So... what are "they" defending...? A thread...

Britain has 17.5 million hectares of agricultural land. 65% of it cannot grow a single crop. Too thin. Too high. Too wet. Too steep. The kind of slope where a tractor becomes a story they tell in the village pub for generations. It grows grass. Because grass is what evolved to grow there. The cow eats the grass. The sheep eats the grass. Your stomach cannot eat the grass. Take the ruminants off and the food production from that land becomes zero. Not lower. Zero. The ruminant is not blocking a better option. The ruminant is the only option. The activist who wants the ruminant removed is not reducing meat consumption. He is outsourcing it. To Brazilian feedlots on cleared rainforest, shipped six thousand miles in a refrigerated container. The British hill goes to bracken. The Amazon goes to soy. The supermarket label changes from Hereford to Mato Grosso. This is presented as the ethical position. It is the most expensively packaged self-deception in modern politics.

It strikes me that a great many ills can be cured by walking through the shade of mighty trees on lanes filled with birdsong. I hope these precious places will always be there to provide quiet and calm in a loud world. 📍 Peak District, England

People ask me why I'm so passionate about sheep. Here's why. A sheep wakes up on a hillside nothing else will live on. 32-degree slopes. Acidic soil. Wind off the Atlantic. Rain in quantities most European crops would consider insulting. She walks out, eats grass nobody asked her to grow, and turns it into meat, milk, wool, lanolin, and the maintained landscape beneath her feet. She requires no pesticides. No irrigation. No imported feed. No lab. No patent. She takes the sun, the rain, the soil, and the specific botanical composition of a particular upland, and produces the leanest, most nutritionally complete meat in the British food supply. Every gram of lamb contains complete protein, zinc, iron, B12, selenium, and the conjugated linoleic acid your metabolism actually asked for. She also produces, as a side effect, the landscape the tourists photograph. The wildflowers the campaigners claim to care about. The birdlife the charities fundraise on. The stone walls the poets write about. The curlew, the skylark, the golden plover, the red grouse, the hen harrier. None of it exists without her. And we have spent the last fifty years being told this animal is wrecking the countryside. The audacity. I'll take my chances with the creature that has been shaping these hills for ten thousand years over the pea protein isolate that was patented in 2017.

Follow the decline of glass of British milk over the last century. 1925 - The milkman delivers raw, un-homogenised, full-fat milk from a local dairy in a glass bottle, left on the doorstep before dawn. Cream at the top two inches deep. Living enzymes, bacterial cultures, fat-soluble vitamins in their natural matrix. The national default. 1940 - Pasteurisation becomes the standard under the Milk Regulations. The living cultures and enzymes are cooked out in the name of safety. The cream remains. The nutrition, diminished, is still mostly intact. 1946 - Free school milk for every child. A third of a pint a day. Whole, with cream at the top of the bottle. The generation that drinks it becomes the tallest, healthiest cohort Britain has ever measured. 1968 - Harold Wilson's Labour government cuts free milk for secondary schools. The first brick comes out of the wall. 1971 - Thatcher cuts it for the over-sevens. The tabloids christen her Milk Snatcher. The slide begins. 1984 - The Milk Marketing Board launches semi-skimmed nationally. A product previously considered fit for pig feed is rebranded as heart-healthy. The cream, skimmed off, is sold separately for ten times what the whole product fetched. 1989 - Stilton goes pasteurised. A cheese made with raw milk since 1720 becomes a pasteurised imitation protected by the original name. 1993 - Semi-skimmed overtakes whole milk. Nine years from launch to dominance. The fastest nutritional inversion in British history. 2024 - Raw milk sales rise sharply for the third year running. A generation raised on the green-topped bottle starts quietly seeking out what their great-grandmothers drank without thinking. What was removed, step by step: the living cultures from the 1920s through to 1949. The cream in 1984. The whole product in 1993. What replaced it: a thin white liquid, cooked, skimmed, and sold back at the same price, with every removed fraction sold separately for a second profit on the same cow. Your great-grandmother drank a superfood. Your grandmother drank a pasteurised version of it. Your mother drank a compromise. You drank a marketing campaign. The cream is still in the cow. The cow is still in the field. Between you and the 1925 doorstep bottle stands a century of advice from people who have never set foot in a dairy.

Beautiful days …

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Happy 90th Birthday to the Spitfire!

Dear Prime Minister & Home Secretary, I hope this letter finds you well, fully caffeinated, and in possession of a calculator. I’m writing with what I believe is a modest, fiscally responsible proposal. I understand the Government is offering up to £40,000 to certain individuals to voluntarily leave the United Kingdom. First of all — bold strategy. Nothing says “strong borders” quite like a cashback scheme. Now, I regret to inform you that I am, in fact, a fully tax-paying, law-abiding British citizen. I know — awkward. I appreciate this may disqualify me from the premium exit package, but I’m willing to negotiate. I would like to formally apply for £35,000 to leave. You see, unlike some applicants, I haven’t broken any laws to get here. I didn’t arrive by dinghy. I didn’t require processing, housing, or legal appeals. I’ve actually been funding the whole operation through PAYE for years — which I believe makes me a loyal shareholder in this enterprise. Given that you’re prepared to offer £40,000 for someone to depart voluntarily after entering illegally, I feel £35,000 for someone who’s been here legally all along represents excellent value for money. Think of it as a “Buy British, Get One Gone” discount. For £35,000 I will:    •   Leave quietly.    •   Not require a press conference.    •   Not demand a diversity officer to wave me off.    •   Even carry my own suitcase to the airport. I may also tweet a polite thank-you note on departure, praising the efficiency of the scheme. Frankly, it feels like I’ve misunderstood how incentives work in modern Britain. All these years I thought obeying the law, paying taxes, and contributing to society were the winning strategy. Turns out the real pro-move is to arrive unlawfully and wait for a loyalty bonus. Who knew? While British families are juggling rent, energy bills, and the weekly food shop like contestants on a dystopian game show, it’s reassuring to know the Treasury has located a spare £40,000 per head for voluntary goodbyes. May I ask — is there a points card? Ten years of National Insurance contributions and I get a free exit bonus? If so, I believe I’m overdue. In the spirit of fairness and fiscal responsibility, I am not even asking for the full £40,000. I’m trimming £5,000 off to help balance the books. That’s the kind of responsible budgeting I was raised on. If successful, I promise to:    •   Leave via a scheduled flight (economy is fine).    •   Not stage a protest on the runway.    •   And refrain from re-entering on a small boat to see if I qualify twice. All I ask is equal treatment. If departure is now a funded career pathway, I would very much like to submit my CV. Yours in hopeful relocation, A slightly confused taxpayer

Her name is Nadia Murad, a Yazidi woman and co-recipient of the Nobel Peace Prize alongside Congolese gynecologist Denis Mukwege. At just 19, she was kidnapped by ISIS. For three months, she was tortured and repeatedly raped. Her mother and six brothers were executed. Her community was massacred. She was scheduled to present her book in Canada to share her story, but the event was canceled because it was deemed that it “could promote Islamophobia.” Shameful.

Fishermen off the Suffolk coast say they can hear church bells ringing underwater.🇬🇧🔔🌊 They say it means a storm is coming. And that no sailor should put to sea. Because under those waves lies one of England's greatest cities. In the 13th century, Dunwich was the size of London. Eight churches. A mint. A harbour so powerful the King demanded forty warships from it. An eighth of the entire English fleet. It was the sixth wealthiest city in the country. Then in 1286, a storm surge hit like nothing before. Another in 1287. Then another. A quarter of the city vanished in a single night. Three churches swallowed whole. Four hundred houses gone. And the sea kept coming. By 1831, Dunwich had thirty-two voters, forty-four houses, and two Members of Parliament. Manchester had two hundred thousand people. And no MPs at all. The last medieval church, All Saints, clung to the cliff edge for centuries. In 1919, it finally fell. Bones from its graveyard still tumble from the cliff today. Everyone assumed it was gone. In 2008, scientists pointed sonar at the seabed off Suffolk. Churches. Streets. A town hall. The largest medieval underwater city in Europe. Less than a mile from shore. Still there. There are thousands of stories like this. Hiding across our islands. Help us find them. No sponsors. No ads. Just us.🙏 Be part of us: proudofus.co.uk/support Be Proud Of Us. 🇬🇧

When the State Invades Childhood, Parents Must Push Back. This government has completely lost the plot — and when it comes to schools, it’s charging ahead like a bull in a nursery. Under the watch of Bridget Phillipson, we’re now being told that four-year-olds — kids who still believe the moon follows the car — are apparently mature enough for teachers to affirm a declared gender identity. Not listen. Not observe. Not support neutrally. Affirm. That is not safeguarding. That is adult ideology barging into childhood with muddy boots on. Let’s be crystal clear: Children experiment. They copy. They play. They explore. That’s how growing up works. A girl liking trucks does not mean she’s a boy. A boy liking dolls does not mean he’s a girl. That used to be called having a personality, not a diagnosis. Schools exist to teach reading, writing, numbers, kindness, and boundaries — not to play amateur psychologist or social engineer. The moment teachers are encouraged to validate identity claims instead of keeping a neutral, safeguarding-first stance, the state has crossed a line straight into family territory. And the most unforgivable part? Using emotional blackmail — suicide narratives — to pressure parents into compliance. That isn’t compassion. That’s coercion. And it shuts down debate instantly because no parent can hear that without fear taking the wheel. Kids are not:    •   political symbols    •   social experiments    •   or fashion accessories for adult belief systems They are developing humans, and development requires time, uncertainty, and space to change your mind. If someone grows up and decides who they are — fine. That’s adulthood. That’s agency. But rushing children toward fixed identities before they’re emotionally or cognitively equipped isn’t progressive. It’s reckless. Leave kids to be kids. Let schools teach. Let parents parent. And for the love of sanity, keep ideological tug-of-wars out of primary classrooms.

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"Why didn't you fight back?" Thee BEST explanation you will EVER hear regarding rape. #EpsteinFiles Watch it! Turn it up! And PLEASE RT!

#RunTime #Snowdonia 😊

Quality... 👏

Just a Landy in its natural habitat... 😊#NorthWales #BwlchyGroes

Cofiwch Aberfan/ Remember Aberfan 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁷󠁬󠁳󠁿 Today marks 59 years since the Aberfan disaster. At 9:15am on October 21, 1966, a spoil tip collapsed onto the Welsh village, killing 116 children & 28 adults. One of the darkest days in Wales’ history - never forgotten. #Aberfan #Wales #Cymru