Friday Ephemera
Elsewhere (118)

Beasts of the Air

Meanwhile, in other high-altitude cow transportation news:  

A plane was forced to make an emergency landing because the almost 400 cows it was transporting were giving off too much heat. The Boeing 747 was forced to touch down at Heathrow Airport in London. The plane was flying over the Irish Sea when a fire alarm sounded from where the 390 cows were being kept, reports the Sunday People. After the plane landed, technicians inspected the plane, but found no evidence of any smoke. Instead, they concluded that the alarm was set off by the cows.

If they learn how to make fire, we’re buggered. Mercifully, there are no reports of a catastrophic methane build-up



Mercifully, there are no reports of a catastrophic methane build-up.

They're basically walking bombs.


They’re basically walking bombs.

Gas wrapped in meat.

Last year I stood at the edge of a field taking photos of cows and the entire herd suddenly approached as one, presumably thinking I was about to feed them or milk them or something. Having two dozen of these hefty creatures lumbering towards you is a slightly unnerving experience.

Steve 2: Steveageddon

Hi David

Why were 400 cows all going on holiday at the same time anyway?

And were they flying to Moojorca?

Steve 2: Steveageddon

"Having two dozen of these hefty creatures lumbering towards you is a slightly unnerving experience."

This is why I don't go to the disco any more.


When cows turn bad.


When cows turn bad.

Luckily, it turns out that cows can be soothed by jazz. Of course the cows may soon devise countermeasures and man’s war with the bovine menace will rumble on.

Steve 2: Steveageddon

Sk60 -

I hope nobody would be so bullish as to milk that cowtastrophe for lame puns.

I have no beef with our four-stomached friends. My wife doesn't eat cow-based products, which means I don't get to enjoy any tasty burgers or veal or ice cream.

Of course, if you approach a gang of cows while dressed like a matador or Ronald McDonald, things are going to kick off.


Read Animals in Translation by Temple Grandin for a fascinating perspective on bovine virtues from a high-functioning autistic.

Do the Amazon search ya-selves on David's widget. I ain't doin it for ya.

Mark Wadsworth

Excellent, I have linked to this.

Charlie Suet

Have this been done yet:

You can tell a lot about a person by whether they salivate over the level of bureaucracy during the Second World War.



Thanks for that. I see Ms Hanson manages to tick most of the usual Guardianista boxes:

I long for a strict nanny state, to bring back rationing, so no one would be allowed to over-stuff themselves with great slabs of meat daily, or waste their crusts or peelings… A time when you couldn’t bulk-buy cheap meat, produce crap food with it, and sell it every few yards along every high street, and outside every school, until loads of us are waddling about, obese and poorly, or malnourished, while others are swanning into Heston Blumenthal restaurants…

Comment seems superfluous.


You can tell a lot about a person by whether they salivate over the level of bureaucracy during the Second World War.

Not so much 'progressive' as reactionary and Luddite.


"Don't they realise that hardly anyone does as they're told unless they're forced to?"

Ah, those medaling kids just don't recognize Ms Hanson's obvious moral authority. What has the world come to.


Miserable woman wants everything to be miserable.


"I long for a strict nanny state" blah blah blah. I think it's called North Korea.

Steve 2: Steveageddon

Let's not be unkind to Mrs Hanson. She's harmless.

It helps to think of her column as a geriatric stream of consciousness and nod politely before making your excuses and leaving as you would when your Grampa reminisces again about the conduct of the Japs during the war, his time in a POW camp, and how two nukes weren't enough for the slanty eyed little devils.

Plus, she looks like Dot Cotton. You can imagine her watching the news on a 14 inch colour portable in her chintzy yet comfortable 1970's sitting room, trying to remember who the Prime Minister is, rolling her eyes and saying "Gawd!" before 'aving another fag while staring forlornly at the phone with those funereal eyes of hers.

You're not going to be mean to a poor old dear whose recent columns include "I am plagued by a fear of dying", "Could I have Alzheimer's, like my friend Mavis?", and "I always knew my dog was musical" ... are you?

We'll all be old one day. Even Laurie Penny, who if she doesn't change her ways could end up writing columns about loneliness and household pets in the VRCyberGuardian.

We'll all grow old. Except me. My plan to cheat decrepitude involves cryogenically freezing myself in the Zanussi freezer my shed and leaving a note to say:





Andrew Duffin

Air-freighting cows?


Just why?

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