Deer, dear, dearie me!

An article in the Grauniad about the problem of the deer! To cull or not to cull?
A web of interests and lives.
Cull the landowners (humanely of course...Ed?)
But they include  the  communities such as the  Assynt Crofters’ Trust
Undoubtedly jobs  are hard enough to find and retain in such places.
Hat tip to Bob Mc F and the Grauniad for this
(Sensitively done I thought. Congratulations all round. We will make a blogger out of you yet...Ed!)

Yes. I thought the alternative title for this post:-
Wild swivel-eyed eco-communists destroy local jobs after instruction from long term beardie sleeper, Czech, mole!
was a bit long.

Our friends in the frozen north

Interesting, inspirational, article via open Democracy, Iceland: "It will fix itself" by Tobias Munthe. I like the idea of thetta reddast, especially the it will be done interpretation. We will do it and we will be better, stronger and more able to weather future storms. The impact of the global downturn on a small country is substantial and the article recognises this and the opportunity it provides for fundamental change...

... there is consensus on the need for change, not only in terms of political and economic restructuring, but also in relation to values and even to national identity. The era of Icelandic excess - parading around in shiny Range Rovers (now referred to as Game Overs), weighing up the benefits of Greek versus Spanish extra virgin olive oil - has come to an end.

and maybe...

For a population as small, interconnected and homogenous as Iceland, the possibility of a genuine cultural shift is less of a pipe dream than it might be for a larger nation with greater class, race and net-worth inequality than this insular outpost in the North Atlantic.

There are some interesting concepts; scratching your own itch is very Icelandic, Auden would have been proud, and the thing about bubbles is that they burst. What I would like to see is a culture of ‘bubble wrap'.

Clearly the "In Cod We Trust" mentality is not enough to save the nation at this stage, but that is not to say that Iceland might not find some salvation in its old religion.

Good luck to them I hope they share any lessons they learn with us!

Celtic Promise

Two men sit in a private dining room in Storemont. They appear to be relaxed and despite the fact that there is no wine or beer on the table there is a definite air of conviviality. The green lawns seen on two sides of the room reflect a warmth into the conversation.

So, Ian, it’s a wee while since we had a good natter.

Indeed it is Martin. The Good Lord has showered much upon us!

Not as much as on some poor buggers!

Now Martin, you know I abjure profanity.

Sorry Ian, but I am a keen student of the interweb and times have been hard for many. I am aware, also, that you may have had a few problems yourself up at the Kirk. Thank god we don’t have that kind of problem with the Army Council.

That would be a capital G Martin, if you don’t mind, and I think it will all blow over soon enough. I have been here before many times and with the help of My Saviour and herself the Baroness we have weathered many storms.

Ian let’s get stuck into the cheese, it was my shout and I think I have come up with a real stoater!

Good gracious, you certainly have. I must get the Baroness to order some of this.

Ian, I’m sorry to do this to you but it is ‘Celtic Promise’.

Ah Martin I’m lost. If herself or the Kirk ever find out; I’m completely lost.

Not so Ian, not so at all. Your secret‘s safe with me like so many others.

Well maybe just a little more and then some of that red Leicester.

Now you’re talking Ian.

The meal comes slowly to a companionable conclusion and each man feels that progress has been made. The stink of Celtic Promise cocoons them from the harsh world of ‘foot in mouth’, nuclear proliferation, pending eco-doom or the ravages of sub prime warriors.

The North

Two men sit in a room across a well polished table looking out to an expanse of green through high windows.

"Another Jaffa Cake, Ian, to go with the Orange Pekoe?"

"No thank you, Martin. Herself the Baroness is at me to lose some more weight."

"Lord, you would not want to upset her now, she is a powerful woman."

"Martin, I would rather run naked down the Falls Road wearing a nipple ring and a green white and gold turban, drinking from a flagon of the devil's buttermilk!"

"I thought Gerry came up with a fine tribute to George Dawson. He has a way with the Gaelic that can sometimes bring a tear to these sad old eyes of mine.!"

"I didn't know you had such an appreciation of the Erse, Ian."

Each man falls into a companionable silence and looks out across the castle lawn as if into the future.

In the distance each can hear music.

Ian picks out the faint strains of a fife band playing 'The Sash' but Martin just hears the lilt of the uillean pipes as they flow through the notes of 'The Derry Air'.

And cut!