The Deadly Internet.
I will not discuss my medical for the second week in this blog. It is nice to be able to do that, although next week, I have a review with one of my surgeons. I may mention the outcome of that consultation next week.
Last week, I touched slightly on the plight of British farmers, but as many will know, especially those of us who reside in Europe, all European farmers feel their existence, let alone their livelihood, is under threat, with many now taking to the roads and streets with their tractors in protest. Grain has been spilt, but as yet, not slurry. If true to form, it will not be long before the manure flies in France. While annoying to the citizenry, unlike the Stop Oil type activists, they do allow emergency vehicles to pass, and rather than stop the traffic, they slow it down.
I am adding this sentence just before posting; the Belgians beat the French to it by spreading manure in the streets of Brussels.
An unwanted and unnecessary reaction to this action has been the abuse on the internet. The Welsh farmers have been the most active in Britain, as it would appear to them and many others, their devolved Labour Government has decided to impose whatever draconian rule it can think up in regard to how they can make the farmers’ lives difficult. It is a country where the badger is more important than the cow, requiring protection above the welfare of a farmer's cattle. One of the most contentious issues. Even their fishermen are being affected by unwanted rules. For example, mandatory health checks for self-employed fishermen, most of whom are now ageing chain smokers, the young having abandoned the hard life long ago.
One of the farming spokesmen, a well-known farming figure and podcaster, the outspoken Gareth Wyn Jones, has particularly been bombarded by abuse. Last week, he was seen on TV putting the Welsh farmers' grievances to the British Prime Minister during his visit there. Some on social media called him a traitor, while all who know him know he is a true Welsh-speaking patriot. He tried to ignore the worst of this abuse, and to that end, he posted he was dropping out of social media for a while, only to reappear again, saying his family had received death threats. He could be seen on his podcast having security cameras put on his farm as the police, who had been monitoring his social media, had picked up that there were death threats amongst the abuse. My first thought was why were the police monitoring his social media quickly, followed by disgust at those who had posted the threats. They must have been taken seriously by the police and for him to have to install security measures on his remote Welsh hill farm. I have no doubt the people writing the death threats are of the ilk of those activists that throw paint on masterpieces or stop ambulances from getting to the hospital. If you are crazy enough to beat up a fuel pump, you are crazy enough to do anything. Surely it is within the capability of the police to track down the perpetrators and bring them to justice. If it was a farmer that abused, or god forbid, punched one of them on the nose, they would find themselves in court the very same day. It does not stop there; all and any who advocate violence should be dealt with. If not, we will see our society crumbling in front of our eyes. Many of us think it already is.“It was said sticks and stones will hurt you while words will never, but death threats and threats of violence are not name calling. They are a precursor to premeditated violence, by the self-proclaimed judge and jury, the so-called influencer, on the individual, nation, political or religious group outside of their own warped and ill-informed sense of righteousness.” - Peter McSporran
How bad is it that their postings have only this past week had the British Houses of Parliament stifle debate on a ceasefire in Gaza, despite the subject matter not likely to have any influence on the Middle Eastern combatants mainly because it would have no legal or constituent standing to do so?
Modern politicians prefer dabbling in others' problems rather than those of real concern to their constituents. Can it be they do not understand what their role is or just that they do not want to be held accountable? Whichever it is, it seems to be the typical malaise of all Western politicians.
“Showing sympathy towards the influencers and radicals seems to be the modus operandi of modern politicians at the expense of good common sense and the portrayal of moral fortitude.” - Peter McSporran
My Namibian Odyssey Continued.
Every day, as I was still reasonably fit, I would go for a run in the early morning fog along the chilly beachfront of the town of Swakopmund. Something like three hundred days of fog per annum is normal for Swakopmund. In the afternoons, after the formal meetings, we would visit local places of interest, including Walvis Bay, where the over-friendly pelicans take pleasure in shitting on you. I know we complained about the seagulls in Scotland but a load from a pelican puts the efforts of seagulls to shame. As naive tourists, we were happy to see pelicans jump on the seal viewing boat and buy fish to feed them unaware the fish would turn into a vicious, extremely smelly jet stream from their rear almost instantly. They had the capability of shooting this dreadful liquid manure several metres.
Another place of interest was Dune 7, the highest sand dune in the world at some three hundred and eighty metres. I made the mistake of taking a frontal assault, eventually taking two steps forward and three back in the shifting sand until I followed John Hudson's example and scrambled up the long ridge. That day we were also shown one of the oldest plants in the world, living some two thousand years, the Welwitschia. To me, it looked dead, but I was assured not so by our guide.
On our final day in Swakopmund, it was set aside for a fishing competition where each farmer's union represented their country. There was either the use of a single boat or the alternative to this, beach fishing further up the Skeleton Coast. The fishing shops in the town cater for tourists, supplying all you need for beach fishing, not so for boats at that time, which Anthony and I were to find out, thinking the boat was the best option. As all the others, after looking at the choppy sea or due to experience, boarded pick-ups for the hour drive up the coast, we set off by boat. For us, no sooner leaving the launching spot, being the Mole, we not only found ourselves getting wet from the ice-cold spray but also from the water in the boat, which was quickly filling through a leak. This did not seem to worry our German-by-descent guide. He handed us a bucket and told us we should take turns in baling. In fact, baling was the only way to keep warm, but after two hours of the most uncomfortable and unproductive fishing I have ever had, we convinced the skipper to return to port before we died of either drowning or alternately hypothermia.
On landing we decided to hire a truck and go and see how the others had done, only to be stunned on reaching them to find the South Africans and Namibians had caught a huge amount of Galjoen, Blacktail, Kob and Steenbras. We helped to take them back to the designated fish weighing and cleaning area in town, where we were offered as much as we wanted to take home. We Zimbabweans were reluctant thinking about customs in Harare but Gary Magadire said not to worry; he could take care of any problems. Sure to his word, he did, needless to say, he must have had about a hundred kilograms for himself while we conservatively took about ten kilograms each.
The next day we set off for Gobalis, to cattle country, where I was surprised to see the best Afrikaner and Shorthorn cattle I had ever seen. The grazing is sparse, but like our lowveld in Zimbabwe, the grazing was sweetveld, and all the animals we saw, despite the low rainfall, were in excellent condition. It was also the first time I saw cheetahs and cattle in the same paddock. Many of the farmers were of German descent and very proud of their heritage and cattle. Cattle were sold as grass-finished beef through the Swameat Co to Europe or as youngstock to feedlots in South Africa. Once again, a first for me, the wholesale ring was a scale with large lots sold through them with the weight displayed.
It was a five hundred kilometre journey from Swakopmund to Gobalis, therefore with stops taking two days before seeing the large Brahma Bull statue, the landmark in Gobabis letting you know you are in cattle country. On our final day, we spent at the annual Namibian braaing competition, a huge event, with, I am sure, more than a hundred competing teams. That evening, some of the competition fare was served up in a giant marquee while the locals danced the tickey-draai to Boeremusiek. Few people spoke English, at least to us but we had a wonderful time, and I promised myself it was a country I would like to explore in the future, which I did.
Disclaimer: Copyright Peter McSporran. The content in this blog represents my personal views and does not reflect corporate entities.
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