New boy on the pavey

Spotted this evening via Scottish Blogs - the Dundee Eye.
For 'eye' read 'ehh'.

Curb your Exposure

This entry by Holyrood Chronicles reminded me in a roundabout way of the scene in the first episode of "Curb Your Enthusiasm". The curmudgeonly Larry David confronts a cinema patron who accuses him of taking too keen an interest in her décolletage with the riposte:

"yeah, you wore a dress like that so I would look at your shoes."

Or something like that.

Road kill - additive free? Pseudo guilt free more like.

Arthur Boyt evidently relishes the chance to partake of roadkill and I wish him good luck as he seeks greater challenges for his adventurous palate. I'm not so sure about some of the claims though - "additive free"? Well as long as you don't include gravel, tyre rubber, rock salt, traffic film and the traces left behind by any foregoing carrion then I suppose you could describe it as additive free. As for

He said: "If the animal has been dead a while and has gone green the taste is a bit bland."

- a direct consequence, I expect, of the smell having rendered insensible both the senses of smell and of taste.
I don't mean to mock Mr Boyt's enjoyment of eating roadkill as what he does is laudable (though eating the dog, collarless or not, is a touch too near starvation measures for my own tastes).
I can only wonder at the sort of moral gymnastics that Guardianistas will be performing as they attempt to determine for themselves whether or not such a source of meat is "ethical". Various analyses will be carried out, perhaps adopting morphological tables to discern to the nth degree
the most appropriate ethical guidelines to be followed as to when it is ok to eat roadkill. Factors to be considered include: did someone else's car provide the killing motive power? Did that person either by act or omission cause the animal to be struck or was it purely accidental? Was the car powered by an eco-friendly means of propulsion? And so on.
The Torquemada-like George Monbiot will, no doubt, provide ethical guidance to his flock and tortured minds laid at ease. In summary, you can always rely on the Guardian and it's adherents to get right up itself (both in the sense of singular as well as collective plural) when it reports on matters that impinge on the "ethical lifestyle".
I'm indifferent on the matter, preferring to have first refusal at something that has either been chosen from the butcher's slab or found itself the target of my own means. My first meeting of our "new" Minister (this being back sometime in the adolescent depths of the 1980's) whose reputation for somewhat eccentric behaviour preceded him in a manner not unlike the bow wave of an ocean going tanker involved roadkill. It should be noted that roadkill was not a term then in general circulation, it being another god-awful neologism of Septic (predictably) extraction. In any case, that '80s warm summer's evening I was treated to the sight of a Honda C90 scooter bearing the person of a Church of Scotland Minister (being attired in the ecumenical garb was something of a dead giveaway and his lofty height, even while seated, matched the description that I had picked up on through word of mouth) and several dead rabbits draped over the pedestal in front of his feet. We stood and watched this somewhat odd vision disappear round the corner a hundred yards down the road before resuming whatever activity passed for amusement in those days. Barely had we done so when we heard the sound of the C90 re-approaching. This time it slowed down and came to a halt alongside us. The Minister introduced himself to us and it being the eve of the Sabbath, decided that perhaps a spot of catechism is appropriate. However, the unorthodox nature of his transport combined with the presence of the dead rabbits, their precarious perch and the rapidly increasing concentration of bluebottles distracts somewhat so after some mild interrogation, the Minister once more sets off for the Glebe, his reputation further enhanced and his larder the richer of the tarmac's bounty.
As a parting note, during my Texan sojourn last spring/summer, I was told to keep an eye out for roadkill that had had a circle spray-painted around it. This practice was to be found in the more rural parts of that great state and the area that I was headed to, Caddo Lake, was typical of the sort of place where it could be seen. The reason for the spray painted circles? Common-ish practice amongst campers in these areas was to circle roadkill as they found it on arrival. Then, first thing next morning they would head out onto the roads. Anything dead without it's own spray painted circle was "fresh" and therefore fit for the grill.

Rats - part 1,042 in an ongoing series

I noted last week that via the letters page of the Dundee Courier, a disgruntled ratcatcher had accused the National Trust of Scotland of failing to allow homegrown rodent control companies the chance to bid for the Canna rat cull project. Monday's Courier had as it's lead letter the response from Abbie Paterson, the chap who cleared up my media-led confusion.

Rhapsody in Dark Blue

Those fine folk in the Senior Service, specifically HMS Campbeltown, have produced their very own mock tribute video to "Bohemian Rhapsody". Classic stuff and despite the flakey nature of my interweb connection (pause playing until the bar is over half way to enjoy it uninterupted). I hope they took the opportunity to splice the mainbrace with pusser's rum after their sterling efforts out on the oggin, even if it is the nice warm sunny bit. I suppose it makes a change from playing uckers 'til your eyes bleed.

Ca' canny wi' the Canna Rats

Then again, maybe not, just trying to come up with a blog title that doesn't immediately make me want to put my fingers in the electric socket to see what happens.
Things are progressing with the fairly ambitious project on Canna that has been the subject of a fair few of my posts from last year.
Previous posts on the topic (main ones being here, here & here, in that order) stated my puzzlement that the figures quoted in the media were so high though varied significantly from one newspaper to the next. After contacting the National Trust for Scotland last year, I received an informative reply from the National Species Recovery Officer who it seems is overseeing the contractors in charge of the rat cull. The disputed figures were finally settled at £580,000 for the project cost and 25 tonnes for the amount of rat poison budgeted for. The biggest discrepancy was the reported media figure of 25,000 tonnes of poison which first caused a Roger Moore-esque raising of an eyebrow. That was clearly a case of fat finger syndrome or suchlike in the errant journo.
Having settled that, it was with a slight sense of deja vu that I read the leading letter in today's Dundee Courer. A disgruntled ratcatcher claims that the homegrown rodent controllers were denied the chance to tender for the contract. An interesting claim that certainly merits further investigation. Not that this blog shall be carrying any of that out for quite frankly the story as it stands has had it's day, as no doubt have the Canna rats.
To sign off on a slightly odd note, I recall at some point over the previous few months reading of the skipper of a cargo vessel recounting his tale of having warning shots fired across his bows by a warship from the US Navy. This took place off the west coast of Scotland during naval excercises and it seems that the ultra-sensitive US Captain thought that perhaps the much feared al-Qaeda, Mull of Kintyre Division were about to strike. Nothing quite as exotic although if the cargo ship had been hit a lot of rats on Canna would be no doubt scurrying about and eating seabird eggs with their famed gusto. It turns out that the cargo on the boat in question was some of the rat poison destined for Canna. Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on your point of view), I cannot find a link to the story so for now I shall have to retire for the evening pondering whether or not I have made the whole damn thing up.