Dr. Kissinger, a Badger and Nelson Mandela.

The last week has seen the sun bake this part of The Cotswolds.  Long, hot sunny days.  The type of days that remind me of my own childhood. Summer holidays filled with fun, excitement and adventure accompanied with sunshine and the truest of blue skies.  It is funny  how you remember the hot, balmy sunny days and all the lovely adventures, but I feel sure, if one is honest there were wet miserable days and some totally lack lustre days just as much then as there are today.

Disappointing news for me this week, the British Veterinary Association (BVA) will support a second year of pilot Badger culls in England.  You would think the amount of evidence around now on the true transmittance of Bovine TB to even contemplate another years’ Badger cull would be totally out of the question.  Like so many things in life the right course of action always seems to be the most difficult for our Politicians to follow.  They seem to have a total unwillingness to comprehend the futility of a lot of their actions. 

News yesterday that a 1,000 lives have now been lost on the Gaza Strip.  The Israeli land offensive has caused mayhem beyond belief.  Hospitals bombed, schools bombed and while these atrocities were being played out for the whole world to judge for themselves, our own Middle East Peace Envoy, Tony Blair was back for a party in London. 

This particular Middle East problem has been going on for 47 years.  I remember as a child listening to the great American Nobel Peace Prize winner, the 56^th Secretary of State sworn in on September 22^nd 1973, the great Dr.Henry Kissinger, when greatness was marked by achievement and intelligence and an ability to grasp both sides of an argument and do your damndest to get an equilibrium respected by all parties across the Middle East. 

The problems he faced then have manifested themselves many times since but his initial ideas of trying to forge a peace across the Middle East is probably on hind sight the best chance the people of the region have had in the last 47 years.  Until the Palestinians are treated as equals, peace and harmony will never reside there. 

Hamas has been democratically elected and should be sat down with and talked to in a matter of state fashion.  To continually brand them as ‘Terrorists’ and the ‘Bad Guys’ in all of this, I fear, will no longer wash. 

With a 1,000 Palestinians dead, the propaganda war is being won on an hour by hour basis. 

The Israeli existence has obviously got to be recognized and respected by all Arabs but this sledge hammer to crack a nut approach is quite simply wrong. 

Nelson Mandela was a terrorist to some and a freedom fighter to others, but apartheid was just plainly wrong. 

The comparisons from this I bring back to my own small natural world.  The nature I see on a day on day basis, people not wanting to look at the facts to go that extra mile to get it right.  The easy option is so very often the wrong option.  Complex issues need the best diplomatic, political minds.  Minds that look outside of petty argument, minds of candour, progress, integrity and above all fairness.  And my advice to the Middle East Peace Envoy, Tony Blair and the rest of his shower looking over this apocalypse known as the Middle East should take a few leaves out of the book of the great Dr.Henry Kissinger and one of the icons of the 20^th Century, the great Nelson Mandela.  And let us just hope our Secretary of the Environment, Liz Truss has got just a few of these qualities and will see the light before rolling out another futile, mindless, barbaric, savage onslaught on our own British icon, the Badger.

My Badgers in this part of The Cotswolds have had a very hot week and have had to go further afield for their diet of slugs and snails.  The hotter and drier the ground gets, the more ground they have to cover to fill their stomachs.  The way they have chosen to keep cool is to dig in fresh setts along old windy 300 year old Cotswold stone walls. The tenacity and ingenious way they set about combatting the things in life that can cause them discomfort is a lesson to us all.  The Badger is a doer, go out and getter who asks nothing a part from its own health and strength to do whatever he has to, to keep his family safe and as comfortable as possible. The Diplomat Statesman Lord Protector of the woodlands. 

Please watch my short film of a Squirrel, a Badger and a Mouse.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h6VATtMQWmQ&feature=youtube_gdata

Guitar Riff and Badgers Mix.

The weather across The Cotswolds this past week has been hot, close, humid and pretty uncomfortable for a lot of nature’s life.

The Coopers watch over the Badgers religiously.  Operation Mozart’s Magic Flute, the Badger protection programme is still very much in force ready for evasive action at a minutes notice.  The Coopers’ enthusiasm and downright professionalism never ceases to amaze me from ones who appear to be quite frail and old but then, looks can be so very deceiving. 

The awful news of the passenger jet being shot down over the Ukraine this week. Total innocents, men, women and children being snuffed out in an instant, as they were on their way to their own individual destinations.  One has to ask, “How on earth can such sophisticated hardware be in the hands of people who are capable of such an act, accident or otherwise in this day and age?”  In a so called, technology full proof age, atrocities of such magnitude should never happen. 

Many years ago, my small claim to fame, I managed to beat the Palestinian’s Women’s Table Tennis Champion. Something I have dined out on every year since.  It happened in the mid -eighties, she was a very pretty girl and extremely intelligent.  She talked about her childhood growing up in the Gaza Strip.  As she talked I was captivated and mesmerised by the accuracy of detail down to the humiliating distribution of the water supply and the day to day hardships of average people trying to go about their business and eke out some kind of meaning and purpose in the wretchedness of life of all Palestinians on the Gaza Strip.  That was then, and now as we turn on our television sets and we see the Israelis tanks rolling into Gaza on the start of their ground offensive, I have to ask just how far our world’s top diplomacy teams have got?  And the answer put quite simply doesn’t appear to be anywhere at all.  Lives are still being wasted in the same fashion now as they were forty years ago. 

Our own Owen Paterson has lost his job as the Minister of the Environment.  Quite pleasing to see a woman, Liz Truss take charge of what has always been a delicate and matter of fact post.  Pleasing in as much as you would think a touch of femininity in to all environmental affairs can only be advantageous in knocking off a few rough edges of policy in a maternal fashion rather than an arrogant, scattergun approach to our ecological day to day encounters.  I thought instantly of our particular Badger problem.  Will the Badger cull roll out be halted? How could a woman give the order to shoot and gas animals of such breath taking beauty?

The facts of their innocence scientifically and otherwise are there for all to see.  A pity her predecessor did not take on board a little more of the scientific facts.  And as we lean more of Liz Truss her background in oil exploration does not bode well I fear for British Nature in general. 

Our own Dr. Brian May has called for a meeting as soon as possible with Liz Truss to discuss concerns over the proposed Badger cull. 

My advice to Dr. May is to take his guitar and a Badger along to this meeting with a riff of Brian May’s choice to set the perfect ambience and the visual of the ‘eye candy’ Badger to set the type of mood, that anyone harming in anyway shape or form our British Icon would automatically receive a Jail term handed down by our all new shiny Secretary of State for the Environment.

Just a thought Brian. See what you can do.

Please watch my short film of Badgers in a heatwave.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hT5oQv85TTc&feature=youtube_gdata

Badgers and Pub Teams

As I watch the hedgehogs out across my lawn, the summer nights have become very hot and sultry.  Their walk looks almost laborious as they mooch about looking for slugs and snails.  In contrast, the bats overhead look so cool as they glide, twisting and turning effortlessly through the summer nights picking off a myriad of moths and insects in these sultry summer nights. 

The Badgers appear from their sett looking tired and relaxed, almost sleepy.  And when you see the British Badger in his natural habitat, so at home in his surroundings, there can be few animals on earth that look more cute, cuddly and just downright adorable.  

The Badger cull will, I fear, soon be upon us once again despite overwhelming scientific evidence which states time and time again that the Badger cull is futile and totally pointless and does not realise any of the objectives in stemming BTB in our cattle herds, which makes the destruction of these animals criminally insane.

As we get to the finale of the 2014 World Cup Final you’ve seen billions of pounds poured in to a tiny part of Brazil leaving the Brazilian government 11 billion in debt to show case to the world the most expensive pub team on record for their performance was mediocrity on every level.  But to be fair, so were many of the other teams that were present.  None more so than our own England. A working class sport light years out of the reach for affordability of the dirt poor, working class people that represent 98% of the country which hosted it.  A world cup full of Vidal Sassoon hair styles and bodies covered in tattoos.  The cost of the hair styles and tattoos, the hair lacquers and gels would go a long way to alleviating the problems of six and a half million homeless people on the streets of Brazil. It would go some way to ending the sniffing of glue from plastic coca cola bottles from kids as young as five and six years of age. 

The pundits on all media fronts spouting nonsense of the 'best world cup ever.'  What football games have they been watching?  What pieces of heart stopping skill have they witnessed?  I have watched the same games and so have my friends and the conclusion from the people I have spoken to is of cataclysmic disappointment. 

We seem to live in a world where the irreplaceable wonders and beauty of nature are merely played lip service to.  The deprivation and destruction of it goes on hour by hour, day by day, week by week, month by month and year on year.  Depletion of world species and wild habitats find it harder and harder to gain favour with the world media.  May be our beautiful game should go the the same way so we wouldn't have to endure all of this false hype and nonsense along with  these vain, egotistical, moderately talented young men.

The great names of the past that defied description, Pele, Eusébio da Silva Ferreira, Johan Cruyff, Diego Maradonna, Alfredo Di Stefano and our own Gordon Banks who seemed to play for the pride of their shirts and you could not help but feel sure they would have played for their respective countries for free, for the honour of representing them.  Something has fundamentally changed within our beautiful game.  The Premiership full of overseas players, our big clubs in overseas ownership and the absurd roles played out by the sponsors.  Little wonder our National team on a good day would struggle beating Cheltenham Town. 

And my advice to all the pundits who watch this average play week on week and feel that they have to dramatise and scale up to the eighth degree each action of this mediocrity,  to justify their gravy train existence is to surely commentate accurately and honestly on what we all see rather than the sheepish nature of what you want to see.

As I got to the end of my football rant, I received a phone call from Tony Francis who used to present some years ago a favourite programme of mine, Heart of the Country.  This was obviously the cue to bring my football rant to an end..

Please watch my short film of the Badgers up at their sett getting ready for the final, Argentina versus Germany.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fqeOk7Eowew

Close Encounter of the Little Owl Kind.

About three weeks ago a Little Owl was brought to us from a lady in the village. It was a very young owl that had got separated from its parents and was struggling with life generally.  The Little Owl was dropped off in a most fetching round little wicker cage and altogether the package was of total cuteness.  After giving the Little Owl a couple of hours in the woodland at the bottom of the garden to get used to the breeze blowing gently through the trees and the sounds of all the other birds that were now his neighbours, the time was right we thought to get the little mite something to eat. 

In the shed at the bottom of the garden we keep a freezer and inside the freezer there is always a box of day old chicks that we buy from the falconry centre.  Just the thing for such an occasion as this.  We had taken a couple of chicks from the freezer on the arrival of the Little Owl and on these warm summer nights a couple of hours is all that is needed to thaw them out. 

Jackie and I were soon at the bottom of the garden in the woodland peering into the basket where two wide eyes were peering back at us. 

I took one of the chicks from the bowl and broke its yolk sac, the last thing the Little Owl needed was a splattering of that, gamming up its very young, downy feathers.  The Little Owl didn’t appear to be more than two to three weeks old. 

As I pulled the chick into mouth size pieces it was becoming ever clearer that this Little Owl’s bright yellow eyes had seen enough of this world and would soon be shutting them for the next. 

I put my hand into the wicker basket and picked him up, a frightened and thin chested owlet.  As I tried to open his beak my wife Jackie stood ready with the leg of the day old chick.  After a few minutes the beak was opened and Jackie’s first morsel was quickly popped inside the hooked beak.  To our delight the beak clamped onto his first helping. There he sat with the phalanx protruding from the side of his beak. As Jackie stood there she seemed to think the state in which the owl was in was quite unacceptable.  She put out her fingers and slightly tugged at the phalanx as if she wanted it back.  The owlet thought otherwise and with one gulp much to our surprise and amusement the whole leg was soon devoured. Jackie put forward more bite sized treats which the owlet was finding more and more to its liking.  After fifteen minutes or so the whole chick had been consumed with relish.  The owl was now looking extremely satisfied and Jackie’s behaviour, like on all these occasions was more and more excitable.  The Little Owl now stood a chance and the following morning, just like a kid on Christmas morning Jackie was the first at the bottom of the garden beneath the Beech and Cherry trees shouting back at the house that the Little Owl’s progress was most satisfactory.

In the days that followed the owlet got stronger and his little wicker basket was no longer conducive to the wellbeing of the owlet.  He was more confident and brash and the visits being paid to the basket by the Barn Owls and Tawny Owls were encouraging him to act in an ever owl like fashion. 

The homing of choice was the large dog kennel with two inch steel mesh sides and a nice pitched wooden roof with a 6 x 4 wooden house on the end of it.  We placed in the dog kennel four perches along with a bow perch and his little wicker basket we placed in the wooden house with the door open so he could come out and flex those precious little wings.  Jackie quickly pointed out that the 2 x 2 inch mesh would not contain him. This is the whole idea of owl and wildlife revival in general.  They stay for as long or as little as they care to.  Freedom is paramount. 

We continued to feed the Little Owl in his open door basket within the kennel.  He was soon flying the length and width of the kennel from one perch to another showing his new found aerial skills which, like always were breathtakingly impressive. 

When you study so much of wildlife closely, things that have evolved at a snail’s pace across tens of thousands of years always strike you and never ceases to enlighten you on the master piece which is nature that in my humble opinion is never equalled. 

As the days and nights rolled on the Little Owl was getting ever more inquisitive until last Monday morning 30^th June, when we went down to see him he had flown the kennel.  The call of the wild had proved to greater magnet for the Little Owl and the joy on such occasions is immeasurable.

That night as we lay in bed there is a round window in the gable of our bedroom which on these hot, balmy nights is always open and as we lay in bed we look out of the round window onto a large Christmas tree that had been planted in the garden reminiscing a fantastic Christmas of bygone years.  Nearing the top thirty foot from the ground, Jackie had noticed a small silhouette of a bird behaving quite peculiarly.

“What on earth is that?” she asked peering through the window, nudging me in the ribs as if to say get up and have a closer look.  I was soon up at the round window looking out across the lawn into the tree.  It was a Little Owl bobbing his head up and down to gain focus.  We like to think his nightly visits to the Christmas tree outside our bedroom window is his way of saying “Thank you” for his care and our hospitality. 

But like every close encounter and experience one has with nature it is you as a person that is left more fulfilled and more thankful for having the opportunity of being so close to it.

The Little Owl in his cute little wicker basket.

PS.  Daddy Cool and his family of badgers go from strength to strength.  Their summer time wrestling antics fill my summer nights with delight and amusement.  Please watch my short film of a wrestling match in action.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oLOAq7p97nU&feature=youtube_gdata

Beavers, Otters and a Feathery Assassin

Quite an amusing read this week on how the Angling Trust is calling for the beavers on the river Otter in East Devon to be shot. As some of you may already know, a single beaver was seen on the river last summer and now there is a family.  DEFRA however are wanting to evict the beavers.  Their main argument being that the beavers carry a parasitic tape worm Echinococcus Multilocularis (EM) which could spread to other wildlife, even humans. But this tapeworm is already carried by a wide range of other wildlife and is widespread across the Northern Hemisphere.  Beavers that have been introduced by formal programmes on the River Tay have been screened for it and it can prove difficult to find.  Experts believe it is highly unlikely that the animals introduced in Devon would be carriers.

You would think that the Anglers would relish the return of the beaver after 500 years for the beaver does not eat fish as he is a vegetarian.  The otter on the other hand, a creature steadily returning in some parts of the country is an exorbitant fish eater so one asks, will the otter be the next bright light of wild life chosen to be banished from our rivers?

A Gamekeeper friend a few years ago approached me in an almighty rage.  “A fox is killing my pheasant poults”.

“How can you be so sure it is a fox?” I asked.

“There is about fifteen all with their heads chewed off”, was his taut reply. “But I’ll have him tonight, your fox or not Allan.”

The fox that he was referring to was Dini.  Once Teddy had simmered down I asked him how many pheasant poults were in the pen which was located down in the woods.  “Five hundred or so”, was his reply.

“Then it wasn’t a fox was it?” I retorted.

“What are you talking about? Always trying to protect that blasted fox.  Why wasn’t it?”

“If a fox had got in there you would have lost fifty or a hundred poults because those who understand and have studied foxes know just how they have got such a bad reputation.  A chicken coop for instance, a fox by nature is a very highly strung, nervous animal in an attack situation.  He is a specialist in stealth and surprise. Quietness and stillness are the two ingredients in which he lays out his store, so once inside and his chosen chicken has been grabbed, the other birds inside the coop start to flap about wildly and uncontrollably.  The situation the fox finds himself in now is intolerable, noise coming from all quarters, noises that must be extinguished and dealt with as efficiently as possible.  The Coup de Grace to the birds making the noise is death defyingly quick.  Always the same grab and bite to the neck on which he’ll hang onto until the noise stops and the fox will carry on until every chicken is dead and not a sound can be heard.  Then he will leave with his one chosen chicken and that is the trademark of destruction that has followed the fox down through the centuries.  If the rest of the chickens were to stay still and quiet they would remain unharmed for it is noise and commotion that the fox finds himself just unable to tolerate or come to terms with. 

Teddy the Gamekeeper didn’t buy this of course but he finally agreed to let me go with him that night up to the pheasant pen as long as I promised that if it was a fox he was going to shoot it with no interference from me. 

The day soon came round to night and it was now 11pm and there we were led down 40 metres from the pheasant pen waiting on a beautifully still middle August evening. 

The owls were in full song.  One Tawny owl in particular was in quite breath taking form, his twit twoo was ringing out, reverberating right across the woodland but as the twit twoo got louder due to the owl getting nearer I sensed an unease within the pheasant poult pen.  Soon the noise was right over our heads, I nudged Teddy in the side.  We laid dead still.  With one last twit twoo the owl glided down from the Beech tree onto the top of the pheasant pen.  The Tawny owl sat on the pheasant pen, he was looking for his route in, the one that he had taken before and within seconds our feathery assassin was inside and the mayhem commenced.  Teddy sprang up onto his knees, gun in hand.  I grabbed the barrel of the gun and pushed it downwards towards the ground.  “The bet has been lost old friend, if you had wired over the top of the pen properly in the first place the owl would have been unable to have gained passage into the pheasant pen thus saving the fifteen poults last night and whatever has been killed tonight.  An easy ready meal.”

We were soon up at the pheasant pen pulling the wire from the top making it that much easier for the owl to make his escape and I must say the speed he swooped out of that pheasant pen, the phrase, “Bat out of hell” sprang to mind.

Ignorance and inaccuracy can blight our countryside and rob us of such creatures that words are just unable to describe or quantify.

Please watch my short film of a badger taking time out from his frolicking family on a warm summer night.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mDq-ektv_2s

One of my Badgers relaxing with not a care in the world.

Biblical Badgers

As I sit here looking out across the valley, my two dogs howling in the back ground at the church bells that are ringing out across the countryside. The skylarks high in the sky all competing to be heard in amongst life’s tapestry of colour and ambience of sound.  Poppies in the distance, an orangey red with a gentle swaying movement in amongst the greens of our gorgeous English landscape.   Something so very biblical the morning after the longest day of the year. 

Last evening about 7:15pm I left the house, fly rod in hand, a couple of slices of bread, a lump of cheese and a can of cider.  The evening was going to start with a few hours fly fishing down on the river followed by my annual summer solstice acquaintance with my Badgers up at the Badger sett.  I walked through my garden where a couple of Muntjack and three Red Deer were nibbling about on my lawn looking for the most edible treats to satisfy themselves with.  There was a time when we used to try and keep them out but to be honest, the damage they do is more outweighed by the beauty of their presence.

When I arrived on the river bank I selected a fly of choice and soon I was in the most heavenly bliss.  A warm summer evening, a gentle flowing river, alone with the thoughts of the moment which were mainly on just how lucky this particular river was to be graced, like most Cotswold rivers with the British Isles natural fish, the Brown Trout.  Notoriously so difficult to catch and  whatever age you are when you do catch one, it is the exact same feeling you had when you were lucky enough to have caught your first, excitement, satisfaction, it is  an achievement of wit over nature.  A barbless hook in an imitation fly.  Even once hooked the way a Brown Trout fights, he is never yours until safely on the bank.  You can never relax with a rising, twisting, darting Brown Trout which is so beautiful as it writhes out of the water and then splashes back down.  You try to keep your line tight, but not too tight.  You try to tire the fish as he continually tries to get to the faster running water.  This is a sport that is a sport in the true sense of the word.  Fly fishing practised properly always gives the fish a much stronger chance of getting away than it does landing one.

 The evening time raced away and the sun soon began to set but I stayed on for another hour or so. As I continued to cast my fly, I noticed in the meadow behind me the Muntjack grazing with the Red deer.  Two of the deer had fawns at foot.  They had retrieved them from the long grass, knowing that down here by the river it was safe for them to do so to enable their fawns to break cover and enjoy the now dewy bite of fresh young grass.  They were making the most of the opportunity before the sheep were once again let in on the river meadows to have their fill. 

As I sat and watched them, melancholy thoughts entered into my mind of the days gone by when I had loved to race home and tell my own mother and father what I had seen and how breath taking the experience of the river had been.  My own mother and father must have felt much the same as I do when my own children tell me how much they adore the experiences and beauty of this amazing piece of England. 

It was now 11:45pm, I picked up my three trout and put them carefully into my bag.   The river had been bountiful.  Now it was time for me to go and toast the health of Daddy Cool and his family on the summer solstice, the longest day of the year. 

I walked along towards Beech Wyn, the night was mild and the sounds of the Little Owls and Tawny Owls were breaking the silence and as I got nearer the woodland, the Bats were ever more in evidence.  Always fascinating how they seemed to fly right at you and around you but never ever touching you. 

Once inside the woodland, I made my way to the Northern boundary, the spot where Daddy Cool had taken his cubs once they were big enough to follow him.  I passed the boulders that I had put around the main sett, to form a protection program for the Badgers now over a year ago.  Mozart’s Magic Flute had proved to be a great success.  The Coopers continue to devote their time and efforts in a no nonsense and considerate fashion. Their enthusiasm in protecting this woodland’s Badgers has never diminished. 

At last, I was on the Northern boundary.  There I sat and got the tin of cider from my bag and waited.  After ten, fifteen minutes or so, the Badgers graced me with their presence.  The cubs were immediately in to the hustle and bustle of their wrestling and play fighting.  Amusing how the bigger they get, the more their play fighting is dampened down with firmness by their mother, for when she did appear, she had one cub on her back and another one cadging a lift on her hind leg and a third one hanging off her right ear. They are now almost as big as she. 

After fifteen minutes watching their amazing showcase, Daddy Cool made his appearance.  Such a handsome beast.  This moment has always been so very special.  I raised my can of cider and toasted his and his family’s health.  Another successful season, unlike our own England football team.

Watch my short video of Daddy Cool and his family playing. 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5wA7KRudwYE

Badger in a leafy woodland.  A beautiful sight to behold

Orwellian Wrestling

Another Father’s Day in which I have been spoilt with some wonderful gifts. I am always touched by the high esteem in which my children and Jackie always hold me in. 

Yesterday evening we had a delightful meal in our local restaurant to celebrate Sam’s 18^th birthday, Father’s Day, Sam obtaining a place at The Royal Agriculture University and Sophie passing all her second year medical exams. It was a very jolly evening had by all and  the conversation flitted from local through to national and international affairs dominated by the main talking point which was the birthday gift my daughter Sophie was about to present to her brother Sam,  which was an imminent climb of the O2 arena.  Listening to them, their excitement was quite palpable. It is amusing how even now as they are getting bigger that their gifts to each other excites us all in the same way as the gifts that were bestowed on them as they were growing up by their mother and I. 

An interesting development this week came from the Humane Society International UK urging farmers to reject the Badger cull and to become more Badger friendly instead, because clearly protecting the species is one of the best ways of mitigating the risk of infection spreading.  The call follows the publication of new research by Jon Bielby and his colleagues suggesting that even small scale Badger culling might increase rather than reduce the spread of Bovine Tuberculosis.  Research has shown that culling a single Badger from a family can cause a perturbation that spreads TB. Quite ironic how behaviour of ignorance can cause such dire deprivation not just in nature, but the whole of life in general.

 I listen to the miserable news now coming out of Iraq. It was in the early nineties with the operation of Desert Storm led by “Storming Norman” Schwarzkopf to end one of the world’s most brutal regimes of Saddam Hussein’s.  His statue in Baghdad was eventually toppled on April 9^th 2003 and here we are in 2014 and Iraq is one of the most dangerous places on earth.  The disturbances throughout the Arab uprising, Egypt in particular springs to mind.  When the West cries out for regime change hoping in their naivety it will make the peoples’ lot in that particular country so much better when in reality, it is the total reverse. Whereas in these dictatorships the majority of law abiding people can bring up families and have a certain degree of stability in their day to day lives and a degree of certainty of when the next bottle of water can be obtained and the next loaf of bread can be placed on the table.  Democracy is the finest old wine of them all.  It takes hundreds of years to get it right, in the UK’s case, just over four hundred years. But we seem to have an appetite to blast democracy into countries that realistically are simply not ready for it.  Democracy is an evolution.  It is an evolution of fairness, justice for all and above all else, humanity.  So many peoples’ and families’ hopes have been given an expectation that realistically could never ever have been achieved on a timescale that quite honestly is literally comic book. A Hollywood type of leadership has been brought in to world affairs where the bigger the crash, bang, wallop the quicker these sad situations would be resolved, when in reality it is time, education, patience, nurturing and very often help, the type of help that is tangible to these fledgling democracy economies that is needed.  Simply an economy that filters that particular country’s wealth and resources from the great to the humble is the most fundamental attribution to any democracy.

Speaking of democracies, my Badger sett practices nature’s democracy in the woodland on a daily basis.  The cubs are now almost the size of their parents and the play fighting and wrestling is a constant source of entertainment.  A pecking order is found and an equilibrium is practiced to the degrees of tolerance that a lot of world societies would be happy to call their own.

Please watch my short film of my Badgers wrestling and frolicking in a Cotswold woodland.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wKjT28UNUTE&feature=youtube_gdata

Badgers wrestling in the woodland.