Ma’am, it’s about your friggin’ swans feasting off Cressroads
April 23rd, 2009
By George, Freddie,
Not a whooper of a stiff-necked migrating Cygnus cygnus swan is sighted in Cressroads. But that could change, if one of the Icelandic super swans gets downwind of Reykjavik pinstripes investing in farming the town’s crop for UK supermarkets.
Atop of suffering the credit crunch, their having to continue to accept the voracious appetites of scores of native Mute swans necking and munching their way through £250,000-worth of locally grown watercress year on year.
Luxury food themselves, but becoming less so - swans, not invading, well-heeled Icelanders - if it were not for the Crown’s ancient claim to the nation’s swans.
When, George, if this were this day two decades ago, Blogsbody would have thrown your notable Hollingbery name into the hat for his two eldest sprogs by his third set of nuptials – His & Her Nibs, Matt and Keogh – to want to consider you as a victim for their ‘20p pocket money affixed for the cost of reply-postage’ letter-writing marathon.