ONE FOR SORROW

There is a judgemental presence within us all.

It fills us to the brim with eyebrow raising situational stares that set off historical reflections of our own risk averse past.

Looks wise… If it aint normal don’t admire it.

I, as you well know; am full of it.

I am as judgemental as they come. Look at me wrong and I will call you cunt, challenge the honour of my friends or this farm and I will tear you a new arse hole.

(I am very powerful).

Sometimes being judgemental works in our favour. It protects us and helps us assess danger.

For example: All horses (cunts) are cunts because each and every one of them gossip worse than Yorkshire folk on coke. Literally.

Gossip is a negative manipulation of the truth and therefore cuntish. So they are cunts for that very reason. All tarred with the same brush; so in my mind, I know not to trust them. PS, as I have said before, you have to say the word cunt as a sort of suffix for every time you mention the word horse (cunt) or horses (cunts). It’s the law.

Most if not all rural farm theft is undertaken by gypsies. Therefore when you see a gypsy near a farm you know to hang them from a tree and/or burn their children.because they will be intent on committing a crime.

So by now you are getting the gist of how being judgemental can help you when:

a)     You have a secret to keep and need to tell someone about it –

#don’ttellahorsecunt

OR

b) Organise a suitable farm yard risk management strategy limiting the involvement of the outstanding Dorset Police by implementing a burning policy and empowering them so they can fully resource the notorious BH12 area instead.

Being judgemental can bring about feelings of extreme confidence. Sure I can don a cape and go gypsy burning all under the radar, fallen super hero style, covering my tracks in a sea of miss direction, turning my head away and smiling when people hype mysterious dark night fame to my very normal face; as they wander who it could be….

But I am a bit more blatant than that now! I go in guns blazing! And my guns are fucking ripped! Plus I’ve got an arsenal of animals with deadly skills ready to back me up!

Being judgemental can also make you feel at one with your own perspective. You can hate on who you like because you have the brains and talk to justify it. What’s more if you say it in the right way most people will listen.

Take Beth the Manager for example. She’s new to farming, and this made her vulnerable to making mistakes and gullible as to how things are really done round here. Although to be fair, Handsome James is teaching her well

#curriculum

(That’s called subtext Jock Strappers)

We made her implement new things by judging her knowledge. We were right and we managed to get a successful diversification strategy launched as well as saving my own black ass from redundancy in the process. Being judgemental worked a treat.

Thought never occurred to me though…. What if I was the one that people were being judgemental about?

What if I was being judged as a cunt or one dangerous son of gun?

Normally it would be water off a bull's back.

People are now judging me as dangerous.

In all the wrong ways for all the wrong reasons.

This is not bringing about a feeling of confidence but feelings of anxiety and dread.

Bovine TB is a killer. Some say its spread by badgers. For that reason badger culls have been happening over the last year or so. Gloucester got the gig as a test bed with Dorset as reserve.

Now I’m not a fucking scientist. Yes badgers are vermin and No they actually don’t behave like Badger off of Wind in the Willows.

They smell, they are creepy and they chat shit.

TB was always at the back of my mind. As a cow you have a healthy apprehension for such things. But sometimes you can’t help but believe the hype about badgers carrying the disease.

Badger numbers round here never got out of hand. Maybe having Metal Face Mitch, Big King Tom and Discount Denis slithering about the place put new ones off from coming.

Any way, cutting to the chase,

One of us cows goes down with this shit and curtains for all of us. We are judged as deadly carriers and duly executed.

I am living in fear.

Mind blowing anxiety is controlling me every day.

What’s more the sodden fields cant support us all so we are inside a lot, close together, breathing all over each other. I know I have my own digs in the yard, but at times like this we need to show solidarity. Plus I am scared and keep having funny turns when I am alone.

Also we have taken in refugees from the flooded out Somerset Levels

The place is fucking packed.

So what’s the smoking gun I hear you ask?

Well, four weeks ago I was stood at the top of Hill Field overlooking the farm when Sharon Buzzard landed in front of me.

She stared right at me and said

“Consider this a death stare love, death is coming, death will be upon you, transmitted within you”

I was shocked and surprised at this move. It takes balls to confront me at the best of times, let alone after I have watched someone piss themself.

I didn’t know what to say?! All I could do was follow it up with a

“Now it begins”… Like off of Robin Hood Prince of Thieves…

Any way since then we have become over run with rats and badgers. The wind and wet weather has acted as a diversion and farm staff have been kept busy battening down the hatches. We have had hey barns collapse, flooding in the yard and all sorts.

Don’t get me wrong we are acting on this. Knuckles the Magpie has assassinated two of these immigrant badgers with his new cross bow, but we are getting overrun. What’s more his fucking born again cunting Christian wife kicked right off when she found his little killing set up, complete with night vision. Fuck sake.

Jerry the Adder’s venom isn’t strong enough to do a badger in. God knows where the security snakes are even and Bandit the Honey badger (no relation - honey badgers are actually related to weasels – yeah work that out) didn’t exactly leave on good terms. He would have annihilated them.

So Sharon Buzzard has used good strategic planning to execute this offensive. She has taken into account many variables, such as the weather, the weak points in our security and the one thing that could actually bring me down: Bovine TB.

We can’t exactly test all these badgers either. They hide out deep underground, only come out at night and rarely kick up a stink. Tell I lie, they smell worse than rats’ arseholes. Speaking of which, they are here in abundance too. Beth the Manager has got everyone with a pair of boots on out shooting them.

I can’t tell her that she is being played and its just a diversion to keep the staff busy whilst badgers seem to be air dropping in around them all.

If the staff finish mending buildings and shooting rats they are bound to work out there are badgers all over the place.

THAT IS A BAD THING

Mad Harry the Vet will be called in on a whim and it will be all CSI Dorset round here with tents and white suits. Everything will be tested to within an inch of its life.

If there is the faintest sniff of infection and the truth outs… we die.

Its as simple as that Jock Strappers.

Its beyond negotiation.

The buzzards have laid it on and are no where to be seen. I sent Knuckles and Frank on a recon. Two absolute specialists -  couldn’t find hide nor hair of them.

This act of terrorism has been designed to test my state of mind knowing that those badgers are about. Keeping the staff of the scent whilst I sweat on it is genius.

All done remotely too.

Its left me feeling intensely anxious, full of anguish and dread.

In my opinion its gone beyond them wanting an apology. The buzzards must obviously want all out war. But in my darkest hour, in this frenzy of fright I’ve begun to bull up and pity their plight…

(#poetry)

…. The sorrow I will feel will be for their falling feathers as pain and annihilation comes their way… Yes, that's right - its time Jock Strapper’s, to go back to the

#Purbecks.