Going Galt?

Matters proceed and the straws have shown which way the wind is blowing. Hard times are coming, with emptying supermarket shelves and urban shortages. There’s a financial crunch in the offing too, if my instincts do not deceive me. A big one. Time to cash out, which we’ve already done. Just awaiting contracts on the house.

For the moment the post election Canadian stock markets have settled into an uneasy stability. Which will be to our advantage. For Canadians it means the idiot Trudeau boy will still be governing by feat, but the markets seem to like that, but markets I find are fairly short sighted and don’t see the economic train wreck coming down the tracks.

Across Europe the shortage of truck drivers is starting to bite too as a lot of chickens come home to roost for the big logistics companies. Drivers are no longer content to put up with long times away from home for miserable remuneration. Not to mention the current Carbon Dioxide shortage hitting food processors and threat of power outages because of too much reliance on ‘renewables’.

Ten years ago, the UK Government, amongst others in a fit of Green fucknuttery, decided to go down the ‘decarbonisation’ route, based on the premise that man made emissions are altering the climate. A premise only supported by dodgy mathematical modelling. Rather like the COVID predictions. And how wrong have they been, eh?

Europe could have had steady decentralised power generated by small modular reactors and fracked gas, but no. The idiots then in power made decisions to placate a green minority lobby, thinking it would win them more votes. Now Bojo the Henpecked is doubling down because his missus is nagging him into it. For which everyone else will suffer.

For a balanced perspective, spend some time listening to this podcast.

Looking on the bright side, I think a ‘great reset’ is already underway, and it’s not the one envisaged by that idiot collectivist Schwab and his followers at the WEF. Now this is just me, but I think this is going to be a ‘reset’ like after the great medieval plagues, when wages went up and society changed with the expansion of the land owning Yeoman class and decline of serfdom. A sea change in the relationship between the ruling and ruled. Because the Internet has given the ruled a real voice, and the rulers don’t own all the tools of propaganda any more. Yes there will be some short term argy bargy in the meantime, but in the end, the ruling classes will have to wind their necks in. Similarly, their great green dream will come to a crashing halt. Ironically because the policies contained therein are ‘unsustainable’. Like wind turbines when the wind isn’t blowing, or solar panels at night.

The NHS, and all similar government ‘Health’ services may also collapse because they’re simply swallowing too taxpayer dollar. Even a blind man can see the tax train running away down the tracks toward a wrecked bridge. Unless the brakes are applied very soon, we’re all going over the edge. So I’m putting my cash into bricks and land to keep it’s value.

Some like gold, art, or other hedges against inflation, but I look at it this way; you can’t eat gold or art, but you can raise food on a relatively small plot. I was fortunate to be raised thus, learning to grow stuff for the larder almost before I could walk. Later learning the skills of talking my nourishment from field to plate and not getting too fussy about the bloodier aspects.

This leaves me wondering whether the time has come to wind up this blog and step back into the shadows to look to my own needs. There are things that must be done, money put to work apart from on the stock market. Off the beaten track. Self sufficient and outside of the taxman’s greedy grasp. Maybe it is time to go Galt.

Could be fun.

We didn’t mean to, but….

The other day we went out and bought Mrs S a car. An MPV that came at a good price from a trusted dealer. So now we are both independent of each other as far as transport is concerned, and have a fallback option in case our other car becomes hors de combat for whatever reason. Or if we have two batches of visitors to collect from differing air or ferry terminals.

Of course shelling out for a new wagon means I have less ready money at present than I’m comfortable with, what with the house and all coming up, but we can afford it, and it’s a nice to have in case one of us has to zip off somewhere at short notice. Public transport is all very well, but it takes an age to get anywhere and you’re crammed in with the coughing and spluttering masses. I need the off road capability of the SUV and Mrs S doesn’t, preferring never to drive down anything less than a Motorway or N-Route. I’ll get her registered with a toll card account so the doesn’t have to fuss with all the loose change.

With the easing of restrictions now that the Pandemic is almost (But not quite) officially over, ‘South’ has been let out of her home to picnic on the beach with friends down in the fabled land of Oz, and is talking excitedly about coming over for an extended visit. Indeed as are most of our extended family. For some reason they’re all very interested in visiting our new place. Hopefully we’ll have the decorating done in time for the festering season and any visitors that come our way.

I know Boris the Henpecked over in the UK is not letting go of the petty powers he put in place that have made life so miserable for most of us, but things are turning out all right. Decisions have been made, life changes planned and the next few years promise to be very interesting indeed, but in a good way.

Winter for example promises to be full speed ahead and bugger the politicians. I’ve never had this much land to play with before, but we’re planning our planting and rearing around a nine month active year with three months downtime when we will take extended breaks with family overseas, which suits our temperaments very nicely. This first year I shall be busy putting my ‘O’ level woodwork skills to work on building raised vegetable beds and beehives ready for Spring. There’s agricultural contractors to organise and a fox to get rid of, so I won’t be going anywhere for 2021-22.

I’m quite giddy with anticipation. Sod the ‘carbon footprint’.

Shock! Horror! Yawno…..zzzz

Back in my college days, and by college I mean technical college, not a University. In the UK these are two distinct types of educational institution, we Engineering students had a saying to mock all the prognosticators of doom and hand wavers out there, living off the drama that they themselves create.

As for an Extinction Rebellion splinter group (Splitters!) glueing themselves to the road, what are these dickheads on? Because dickhead is the only appropriate descriptor for people who glue themselves to the road, especially the M25. Especially when their actions cause pile ups and casualties. Especially when the government ‘Green Homes’ scheme (For one. There are others) already offers cash for insulation upgrades. Whadda bunch of feckin morons these protesters are.

Not that XR aren’t complete dickheads already. Indeed anyone who believes that the planet is going to burn up in ten years or less can only be described thus. Frankly if these drama queens weren’t such a nuisance, the only rational thing to do when hearing these doltish cretins spout their garbage ‘sceance’, is to do what the late lamented Robin Williams advised women to do to avoid rape; “Point and laugh”

But we’re past that aren’t we? While the UK Police have been known to readily baton charge anyone protesting the shutdown of civil rights over this COVID nonsense, they seem to give people like these nuisance protesters carte blanche until it looks like the public are about to kick off, and only then do they shift the bodies and make arrests. It’s almost like the Police are under orders to increase the disruption and chaos these f*ckwit middle class morons like XR cause.

One upside is that these antics have made it almost too easy to play ‘spot the looney’, they’re the ones gluing themselves to the M25 or going on an ‘environmental’ protest in fancy dress. With the emphasis on ‘mental’. Because the proper science, based on real world observations, does not support these wild claims of death and promised disaster. The climate is changing, this much is true, but no-one has categorically proven a causal link between atmospheric CO2 and weather / climate. Indeed, the available evidence shows that CO2 is a symptom, not a cause.

The right of peaceful protest is sacrosanct, but that right does not mean that a group can jam up the normal commerce of the day to day without notice. There have to be rules. Protest. Make your point and go home should be the rule.

My own view is that these people have now reached peak nuisance and should be hunted down and subjected to mob justice, the rough music of public disapproval when the institutions meant to support civil society fail.

Because public institutions like the Police are visibly failing. Justice and law have become too heavily politicised and will now have to be dragged back to the centre ground of one rule for all, applied even handedly without fear or favour. No special treatment for any group, great or small. Protest all you want but don’t stop people getting to work, hospital or wherever they need to be.

Protests should be legitimised by one factor; do they do visible harm to others? Do they cause pile ups on one of Britain’s busiest roads? Are they intended to harass or intimidate the bulk of the general public? If no, then fair do’s. Right upheld. If yes and protests stop people getting to work and cause collisions, then the answer is for XR etc to sod off and inflict their idiocy elsewhere.

A good week

Excuse the blogging absence, but we’ve been hosting ‘North’ for the last week and a bit. Our youngest daughter has been with us here in the wilder west of Ireland, putting a smile on our faces and forcing the household to go vegetarian for a week, but that’s no bother as she does eat fish. So it wasn’t really an issue, although I must confess to being all Salmoned out.

There have been times over the last pointless eighteen months when we despaired of ever seeing her again, but the simple joy of her saying “Gimme a hug” at the airport lifted a huge weight from our shoulders.

To hell with the politicians and their silly lockdowns, masks and ‘vaccine passports’. If ever introduced to one such, I will ask them pointedly if they were for or against lockdowns. If against, they will receive a handshake and me saying; “So why did you not speak out more loudly?” If for, then I will withhold my hand and spit in their foetid, narrow minded eyes before walking away.

What I have loved about the last week is that we got to greet a much loved family member in person. You simply cannot put a price on such events. However, I will never forgive those who have repeatedly extended lockdowns and mask mandates for the damage they have done. I may run out of spit.

Notwithstanding, last night ‘North’ went back to her London flat, much to our regret. She filled out all the right forms, went through all the pointless motions and walked away from us into a near-deserted airport.

An empty airport is a strange thing to see. Like some huge, lonely creature staring aimlessly out across the landscape, mourning the life and human activity that it is denied. Despite all the mock-cheerful “Glad to see you back!” and “Welcome!” billboards, there is still a long, low sadness that hangs over such places like bad weather. Airports, in spite of what anyone might think of the security theatre and interminable queues, are still a place for human interaction, of greetings and goodbyes, no matter how brief. A place of living, not as at present, of a kind of living death.

We’re a global family. Spread all over the world from England to Australia. Wrested asunder on the flimsiest and most overblown of pretexts. First a virus with less than a 1% mortality rate, and now ‘global warming’ (Again). Neither of which are valid reasons, even if the latter is patently false. All of these doomsday predictions come from a faction of mathematical modellers who aren’t fit to compile a basic spreadsheet. People who seem never to set foot outside of their centrally heated offices, or they would have noticed how brief Summers are becoming.

Unfortunately now the principle has been established, only the privileged will be allowed to travel freely, the rest of us will be discouraged from doing so.

So ‘North’ has gone home. The upside of which means steak is back on the menu as of today. Pass the Dijon mustard. I’ve had a bloody good week.

Observed on a sunny morning

Sitting out in the back yard drinking our morning coffee, Mrs S pointed out the unusual sight of two sets of contrails, one almost in each others wake. As they passed directly overhead I could make out the distinctive pale grey Basking Shark shapes of US military transports as they grumbled far overhead on their way west. One around five kilometres and a little lower than the other. Which was unusual. Which is why we thought that they were military. Civilian flights never fly on the same course like that.

From the flight path, I think they were out of Frankfurt, which is the usual European staging post for the US military. Might have stopped at Brize for refuelling, but one thing was certain, those guys were going home.

This led to a taut discussion about tails tucked between legs and whether it was Trump’s or Biden’s fault. I think Biden’s team have to bear the blame for this shambolic affair. Trump may have negotiated the withdrawal, but Biden’s people cocked it up. Royally. Turned a planned strategic withdrawal into an effective rout. Left billions in kit and money, effectively arming and funding their philosophical opponents. No doubt there will be Danegeld, because that’s how Biden’s side of the house thinks. They seem to think that bribing an enemy makes their enemy a friend.

Here I have to lapse into anecdote for my proof; Back in my teenage years I knew a couple of guys who thought that by throwing their money about they could buy friends. They were wrong. They were still widely disliked for various reasons, but everyone nonetheless went to their parties for the freebies. When their money was spent, everyone drifted away. Their enemies remained their enemies, and their few ‘friends’ disappeared. So it will be with the USA.

Which begs the question; are we watching the end of the Pax Americana?

COVID DATA

These are the official stats from the USA.

Who is going to live and who will die should you contract the disease. Here’s the parsing and analysis. Watch and be informed.

From an ancient text

I’ve been digging through my ancestral archives recently, and along the lines of ‘some things never change’ thought I would present the following, adapted for the present day;

Noah in the 2020’s : Ye Grate Fludde.

In the years of pestilence; The Lord came unto Noah, now living in Kidderminster, England and spake thusly; “Once again Noah the earth and all the people therein have become wicked and sinful and it is time to purge the face of my creation, save two of every species of creature and a few virtuous humans, including thyself.” The Lord emailed the CAD drawings to Noah, saying; “Thou hast a year to build this great Ark before I send a grate fludde of forty days and forty nights to purge the world. Now get cracking our kid.”

At the end of twelve months, under darkened skies, The Lord looked down to see Noah in his back yard. There was no great ark, no two of every species, just Noah, weeping. “Noah!” Roared The Lord. “Where is my ark! Where are the two of every species! Come on mate, I’m about to kick off here. I’ve got storms queueing up like Friday afternoon traffic on the M6.”

“Forgive me Lord.” Begged Noah. “But things down here on Earth have changed. Because of COVID there’s no hardwoods to build the hull and I’ve been told by the council that I’ll need planning permission, even though I told them it’s within the regulations for temporary structures. So they forwarded the decision to the secretary of state, so you’ll appreciate the length of time that’s going to take. I was going to cut down a few trees instead and got a permit for that, but then a local environmental group kicked off on FaceBook and now there’s a thousand people chaining themselves to trees. Then there’s building regulations approval and the Fire Brigade Inspector has demanded smoke detectors in all the cabins as well as a sprinkler system. The department of transport have demanded a bond for temporary re-routing of power lines and an excessive load. I’m also in trouble with the Animal Rights activists for imprisoning animals against their will. I said I was gathering the animals to save them, but they said; ho-ho pull the other one chummy and reported me to the RSPCA, who told me the accommodation is too restrictive, then they in turn reported me to DEFRA, who demanded animal movement permits for such a large menagerie. Then the County Council got involved along with the Environment Agency, and Rivers and Waterways Authority who ruled that I couldn’t build the ark until they’d conducted environment impact reports on the forthcoming flood. Not to mention a full risk assessment on shipping movements through built up areas. I’ve also got a diversity team from the Department of Work and pensions who tell me my family is all too Jewish and we have to recruit a more ethnically mixed crew or be in contravention of employment legislation. Not to mention I’m having to wait to get my Masters certificate to pilot the vessel. The Unions are threatening to picket, saying using my sons to build the ark is taking jobs away from skilled ship builders and have reported me to the Health and Safety Inspectorate. Last week border services came calling and rounded up all my animals, saying that I was potentially in breach of the live export regulations. Then Customs and Excise froze all my bank accounts because they thought I was going to leave the country illegally as part of a massive money laundering scam, and the Police broke down my door because they’d had a tip off that I had more than the permitted number of people at my house in breach of the COVID regulations.”

“So forgive me, Lord God, I’m a bit up against it here, and it looks like I’ll need another twenty five years to finish the Ark.” Sniffed Noah, cowering in response to an expected smiting.

Instead the leaden clouds suddenly cleared. A wonderful triple rainbow spanned the sky and the birds all began singing again. Noah looked up in open mouthed wonder. “Does this mean there will be no Grate Fludde of forty days and forty nights and you’re not going to destroy the world oh Lord?” He said.

“No.” Said the Lord God. “The government beat me to it.”

Good to go

Have just hit the ‘go’ on the new place, having coughed up the contract deposit. So now we have ‘Sale Agreed’ on the property and will be leaving the rest in the hands of our lawyers while we take a break in Dublin. The money is moving on schedule and we have all the reports in. So far so good.

Of course there are many things that can go TITSUP, but we’ve taken as many precautions as we can, and should be all right. With a big conditional emphasis on ‘should’. We do not want to make a mess of things. So I am taking advice at every step, wherever I can get it, from our brokers and lawyers to the local planning department.

All this and beekeeping courses too. So I’m going to put out the busy signal for the time being. The outside world can go hang, I’m sure the politicians can keep fucking up (COVID, Afghanistan, climate change policy etcetera)without any input from me. Not that anyone really listens. Facts are so unfashionable nowadays.

Gosh is that my cynicism again? It’s such a trip hazard.

Updated blogroll ETC

Have updated my Scriblerus blogroll and added ‘In Memoriam’ to the sidebar for those members no longer with us. This has been a sad task long overdue.

A few are new to the group, others have fallen by the digital wayside, having run out of things they wanted to say. A couple have simply deleted their blogs, leaving no trace of their writings.

On the home front, it’s all “hurry up and wait”. I’m on my online beekeeping course and watching at least two hours of beekeeping videos a day, trying to learn from the mistakes of others before I make them.

Mrs S and I are waiting for reports to come through about the new place, and keeping our fingers crossed that we don’t get ‘Gazumped‘ in the meantime. We’ve arranged for the money to move, and have a decent reserve in case something critical goes pear shaped. We’ve also lined up a full ‘building and contents’ insurance policy ready to go. But it’s the sense of sitting on my hands that abrades my good nature. That and Mrs S repeatedly asking me “Is it done yet?” which I also find a little caustic. However, I just take a deep breath, hunker down and keep banging my head against the wall and say “Yes, dear”. It’s all baby steps. One thing at a time. Of course it could all go FUBAR, but what can you do but hang on in there and put the kettle on when needed?

The graveyard of Empires

So everyone is baling out of Afghanistan. Well not before time. The West has wasted enough blood and treasure on that bleeding piece of Earth. Let the Chinese move in and waste theirs.

I’ve been involved in a YouTube comments spat about whether the Chinese will succeed. Yes the Chinese have a lot of troops and weapons, but so did the Soviet era Russians, and look what happened to them. Ten wasted years. 1989 anybody? Don’t take my word, read what the then Soviet leader, Mikhail Gorbachev, has to say on the matter.

Let’s face it; as far as the UK is concerned, Afghanistan was another one of Tony Blairs vanity wars. I’ve read various reports and I’m still baffled as to why the Western powers bothered to invade. Maybe the reports of rich mineral deposits blinded them to the long history of other failed occupations.

The Taliban just sauntered into Kabul like they’d never left and laughed in everyone’s face. Which makes me wonder if maybe they are the true face of the Afghan people. I think they always have been. From before the Mughal and later the British Empire, then all the failed modernisations by their own monarchs. They keep reverting to type. Trump was right to talk to the Taliban and stop wasting the lives of western troops.

Here’s a thought. Maybe we should just let the Afghans be until a new generation comes along and gently eases the country out of the 14th century? Until then, leave them be to subsistence agriculture and poverty. If that is what they want. Buy their opium for the pharmaceutical trade and turn a blind eye to the rest. Or let the Chinese buy it for their own abuse.

As for the Chinese ‘moving in’, I say let them and watch them come a cropper. Has no-one else heard of a Pyrrhic victory?

Peak Absurdity

From midsummer. Let’s remember some of the most laughable bollocks put out on the lamestream in dear auld Oireland. Remember Luke O’Neill ph.D in a ‘Zorb’ demonstrating how to socialise while ‘staying safe’? Whadda Maroon.

Or “Handshakes may never return”? Seriously? If someone tries the whole elbow bump crap with me, which ironically requires closer physical proximity than a handshake, I always demur and keep my hand sticking out for them to shake. If they insist I lower my hand, step back and contrive to look annoyed. Even if I am creasing up inside at their discomfiture. Lunatics. As for hugs, eff off you nutters. I will publicly hug any person I hold great affection for and will cheerfully give the finger to any remonstrations.

Can we ever forget ‘COVID Expert’ Luke O’Neill’s advice to freeze your grandparents to death? You’d think after the whole ‘Zorb’ thing he’d shut the hell up, but apparently he’s in love with his own image on the old Boob tube. His opinion of his advice is not widely shared.

As for the already massive additional logistical costs, supposedly to protect politicians from themselves, Jaysus! What’s wrong with wearing a surgical mask all day like the rest of the peasants, eh? I don’t wear a mask at all if I can help it, but then I’ve been taught about the proper use of a surgical mask and where they are actually useful. Besides, given the size of Ireland’s Parliament chamber (Dáil) and the fact that it’s rarely full, the likelihood of catching anything in there is probably not significant.

Then there’s the tale about Armed Gardai (Police) who had to run away from a guy who told them he was COVID positive. Oh for heaven’s sake! For the under 70’s, the chances of catching and suffering serious illness from SARS/COV-2 are currently less than a quarter of ordinary influenza. And have been since at least December 2020, and the morons in power are still talking about a ‘third wave’, which seems to be taking an age to arrive. Wasn’t it due last year sometime?

A personal observation; in my day to day travels I pass two of our local hospitals. The car parks are not full. Ambulances aren’t queueing up, there are no refrigerated containers doubling up as mortuary storage. Frankly they both look under used. Rather like the streets of Localtown, with all their closed down and shuttered businesses.

Just watch the rest of the video and laugh, or cry along for what has been taken from us. Which makes me wonder why we are still taking this whole COVID business seriously.

For myself I’m trying to look on the bright side and take the attitude of Peter Jurasik as Babylon 5’s Londo Mollari; “Whatever it is, it can’t be that bad.“

Well, if you turn off the TV and just go about your day to day business it isn’t. It’s only serious in the minds of the mainstream media and politicians. As for ‘vaccine passports’ anyone asking for one simply doesn’t get my custom.

We have hit and surpassed peak absurdity. Gender pronouns, vaccine passports, banned protests, ‘no fun allowed’ all under a ludicrous rainbow banner of diversity and inclusivity. Ah yes, the ‘diversity and inclusivity’ that has divided society more than anything else in living memory.

Additional: from the Daily Sceptic. The average age of death from Covid in England and Wales in the spring epidemic was 80.4 according to the ONS, splitting 78.7 for men and 82.5 for women. The average age of death in the UK is 79.3 for men and 82.9 for women (though note these are modelled estimates of life expectancy at birth based on life tables, not the actual average age of those who die each year). Public Health England has estimated that life expectancy was reduced by 1.3 years for men and 0.9 years for women in 2020 due to the Covid and lockdown death tolls, though these figures are also modelled.

See graph:

Sweet thoughts

About this becoming an Apiarist thing. Now I’ve been researching a bit about what you can do with honey and beeswax from the hives and found there’s a whole unsuspected world out there. All sorts of honey based stuff from simply bottling the raw honeycombs to honey bread. Not to mention Royal Jelly, which can fetch around ten euros plus per shot. And of course Mead.

My preference is for something akin to a Dryish Sherry , White Port or Madiera, only lighter. About 14-18% ABV. For special occasions, maybe a little ‘sparkle’ or carbonation might be required.

Mead has the reputation of being very heavy and sweet, but I’ve come across some very pale and light products, which are very drinkable, so that’s the direction I’m interested in. But in a distilled end product. Which I’m told is very nice.

The thing is; Is there a proper generic name for distilled Mead? I’ve heard the Slavic word ‘Midus’ bandied around because distilled Mead can’t be Honey Brandy, mainly because mead isn’t really a wine, not being a grape based beverage, and officially Brandy can only be distilled from wine, like Whiskey can only be distilled from a grain (Malted barley) type mix and Vodka is mostly grain, although potatoes have been cited as a base, and of course there’s the Italian Grappa. But I think Mead, being a honey base, should have it’s own classification because it’s neither grain nor grape. So what is the right name for distilled Mead?

Now I’ve been haunting the forums, looking for information, and apart from a lot of useful information about Mead brewing and Distilling, haven’t quite found the terminology that I’m looking for.

As an afterthought, I see the Afghans want to revert to their pre-1900 lifestyle having caved in to the Taliban. Why we bothered with the place in the first instance I have no idea. Having a military presence there only seemed to make things worse and provide the locals with target practice. Which begs the question; can you lockdown the borders of an entire country?

Words to inspire

I saw this on Pinterest, and was moved to create my own version. See below.

Happy Friday.

Oh. My. GOD.

I think I may have just bought a house. Well possibly. Maybe. Providing a thousand details don’t go into TITSUP mode and it all falls over.

At the end of the process Mrs S and I hope to be the proud owner of five acres of land and a reasonable house in a nice area. Whether this happens or not is in the lap of the Gods, our Structural Engineer and the conveyancing solicitors. Who are, surprise, surprise, all on feckin holiday.

Now I don’t resent this because we all need a break from what Mrs S refers to as “All this silliness.” Well, she’s a teacher, what do you expect? These holidays delay the process, but fortunately the Irish, being the sensible people they are, take this into account. Money will move, people will do their job and hopefully we’ll all be golden. Hopefully.

The rest of our global family are planning for a large get together when all these ridiculous COVID restrictions are over. We haven’t had a real gathering of the clan since before my father in law died. Happy days. Maybe when the politicians stop panicking maybe the good times will come again.

In the meantime Mrs S has been bombarding me with questions about what we’re going to do with the land (Erm…Dunno) and what are the regulations (Not A Clue) until my head spins. To which my response is; “That’s what I’m going to learn.” It’s all very well to ask all these damn questions, but if you’re not going to help me find the answers, give me a break already. We haven’t even properly bought the bloody place yet.

Notwithstanding. On the quiet, I have a fancy to retire and take up beekeeping. Become an Apiarist. Plant out the bottom acre furthest from the house with Roses and Fuchsias and a couple of types of fruit tree as a ready source of nectar. Stick the beehives in a little clearing in the middle. It might mean having to wear a Hazmat suit when working at that end of the property, but why not? Might even take up brewing Mead. Work it on a batch production system and perhaps sell my produce once a year to a specialist wholesaler. Or mail order only. Save all the fuss of navigating the byzantine health regulations. Mrs S could make candles from the wax, as I know that’s something she’s likes doing. She’s always liked candles. Again. Mail order or via Amazon marketplace. Or eBay.

The hives would act as their own security, and the site I would choose for them is surrounded by Maythorn and Blackthorn trees a good two hundred metres from any road in mostly livestock country. Very little pesticide spraying. Hell, might even go ‘organic’ and charge twice the price.

Well, I can dream can’t I? Might all fall apart, but that’s no reason not to give it the old rugby try. For the first time in a good long age I’m starting to get fired up over an idea. Well I never.

Oooh nooooo!

Ah the gift that never stops on giving, good old man made climate change got a boost from the latest IPCC report which has been touted as ‘code red for humanity’. Now where have I heard that before?

1989?

Throughout the 1990’s?

All through the 2000’s?

Since 2010?

And so on, and so on. We had “Ten years to save the Earth” back in 1989. Whatever happened to that ‘tipping point’? There was “A hundred months” . Don’t take my word, here’s an article containing a compendium of these hyperbolic claims.

North pole ice still there? Er….. actually yes. Polar Bears? Doing nicely thank you. Antarctica? Still very cold. No real ice loss. Is Iceberg alley still active between Labrador and Newfoundland? Damn straight it is. Even at midsummer, last time I was up at L’Anse Au Meadow. Bergy bits in the harbour and big flat topped bergs you could land light aircraft on off in the distance. Just in case some of you don’t believe me Here are a few pictures from late June 2017.

My first ever berg sighting, a grounded growler, seen in Ste Genevieve Bay. I was so excited I took a picture of our wing mirror.

Then some ‘Bergy bits’ grounded inside St Anthony’s Harbour, south of L’Anse Au Meadow. The smallest are ten feet across.

Oh, and this fifty metre square specimen grounded berg pictured just outside St Anthony’s on the same day. All of these pictures were taken on and around June 22nd, before we beat a hasty retreat southward.

Now this is a thousand miles south of the arctic circle. In late June. A bumper year for wildfires in BC when we arrived home that August. So when anyone guffs off about the world being doomed and it’s all my fault, I will simply ask them how they account for my first hand observations that I can back up with pictures taken by me at a verifiable location.

By way of an observation, over the last few years I have been hearing of cold weather phenomena, particularly in the Southern Hemisphere. Indeed ‘South’ has recently reported temperatures as low as three Celsius in Sydney, Australia. All right, it is Winter down there, but we’re not doing much better here in the wilder west of Ireland. We had a ten day heatwave in July and today our thermometer has struggled to clear sixteen Celsius in early August. To the point where we had to switch the heating on.

So, are we doomed or aren’t we? I don’t think so, because we humans are good at adapting and surviving. We’re even capable of adapting our own environment like building houses to keep us dry and sculpting the landscape to keep us fed. Something the doom addicts don’t seem to be cognisant of. But if they fall for such an obvious con-trick as ‘global warming’ when it’s chucking it down, one might say they deserve all the misery they get. Although I’d rather they simply got on with being unhappy and just left the rest of us well alone.

Or according to Tony Heller of Real Climate Science, quoting Solzhenitsyn.