Wallabies, bower birds, bandicoots etc don’t need delicatessens. They have the hobby farms of tree-changers to meet their most exotic gastronomic requirements. Which is why so many tree-changers can be found combing the shelves of Woolworths and the local co-op supermarket.
When you shove those New Zealand peas into your freezer and close the door, you feel like shouting: “Try getting to that lot, wallabies!” The bower birds that have learned to consume all but the most thick-skinned citrus would no doubt find a way into my fridge if they could be bothered. (I hear they now have their own Human Studies faculty on the Lismore campus. Hope all that liberal education makes ’em a bit more compassionate towards us.)
If the localist movement gets its way, I might be obliged to use my bamboo to build a garden-fortress. You see, there may be no more veggies freighted from North Queensland or Tassie, no more freeze-dried this or snap-frozen that. No more of those juicy Californian dates.
And these localists aren’t market-stall hippies. They’re posh and they’re heavies.
Gordon Ramsay wants Gordon Brown to fine those who market out-of-season foods. According to some localists, remote sourcing of all produce must be stopped by law. Freezing, canning and other preservation methods are now suspect. If not bans, then taxation must stop the rot – or non-rot. A former French Prime Minister, Alain Juppe, has written a book with the title: I Will Never Eat Cherries in Winter Again. A man who can make sacrifices like that is dangerous.
No need to exaggerate, of course. Lovers of Chateau Petrus, foie gras entier, Perigord truffles, Roquefort cheese, Sevruga caviar and the like needn’t worry. There are plenary indulgences and automatic carbon credits for all posh items that have been mentioned favourably in the weekend supplements of either The Guardian, the NYT, or the Melbourne Age.
No, these anti-globo campaigns are directed at the buying habits of common mangia-fagioli: the supermarket-shoppers. Gordon Ramsay will no doubt still be able to celebrate the passing of strict localist/seasonalist legislation with imported Blanc de Blancs and jet-freighted Malossol Beluga. (So might a Borgia pope relax with his mistress after a hard day’s piety.)
Well, I must confess to owning an ultra-globalised foodstuff, and I fear it’s not posh enough for any dispensations. (Maybe its quaintness will gain it a partial indulgence.) The wider scandal involves an entire race – those Tibetans! – and it’s been going on for centuries. Here is a nineteen year old jincha, or tea-mushroom.
An unbroken younger jincha looks like this:
This is not mushroom, it’s pure tea, from the original broad-leaf species of Yunnan, South West China. Known as puerh, it was wok-fried, sun-dried, then steamed and compressed into a traditional mushroom shape. Originally, this processing was to ready the tea for transport along the Old Tea Horse Road, one of the world’s ancient trade routes. The starting point was the town of Puerh, though the ancestors of my tea-mushroom may have been loaded at Dali, near to what is still the production area of that kind of puerh.
The main, but not only, customers were the Tibetans, who still relish this substance as a source of life-preserving vegetable-broth as well as a stimulant and social beverage. Of course, their way has been to add yak-butter, salt, sugar, hemp-seed etc to make it more sustaining. Without this very foreign and remotely sourced product, life would be unthinkable for plateau-bound Tibetans.
Something else came of all this carrying of compressed-tea over thousands of kilometres in different climates. Puerh tea was found to improve with age and storage, and even the warmth and movement of the horses. Consequently, other people in Asia, and now the world, have acquired a taste for it. (Caution: many who love tea nonetheless hate puerh.)
Needless to say, it has become the object of speculation, fakery, fibs, health-claims, hard-sell advertising…you name it. It comes in many shapes, ages, sizes and since the economic reforms in China, there are innumerable brands and labels to choose from.
My nineteen year old jincha, a cheap but good-to-age roughie made by the Xiaguan factory, was never in Tibet. It spent a lot of time in Taiwan, where there is great demand for puerh, before ending up in Newcastle, Australia. Before all that, I’m guessing from its flavour that it spent some time in humid conditions in Hong Kong. After nineteen years, it’s back in bamboo and camellia country. Not Yunnan, however, or Puerh township, where puerh tea isn’t widely liked. I did warn you it was a Global Thing!
How does it taste? A combo of smoke, earth, wood, syrup, mould, fruit, mushroom…
I totally love it. I love it globally.
Late Night Naychur News:
( A serf having lately become
something of an insomniac.)
After dismal weather in the southern
hemisphere over the last week,
we have enjoyed two fine days …
“Blue skies, tra lala la.”
Today an analogy – The sky was dusted
with fine white clouds once more,
powdery like those sugar-dusted coffee
or ginger cakes with a few strewn blue-
berries on top that you see in elite pastry
shops – except that the sky was pale blue
and not coffee coloured, and the whole
was not strewn with blueberries
… Else-wise – the analogy holds.
Not just edifying but edible. All prose should be such.
Woke to a world shrouded in thick fog, not a pea-souper,
more fluffy meringue.
Today in the powdery blue sky a wedge tail eagle soaring! Despite Chat GPT alarm, (etc,) life goes on.
If only wedgetails would eat up all the bower birds. (Those marauders now leave me the odd sour citrus that’s sprouted from rootstock…and that’s about it.)
Still, life in the bush in the month of May is pretty good. They say May is good everywhere in the world, regardless of season. No arguments here in the ‘dong.
Do nets not work against the bower bird?
Re the month of May, yes, mild planet when the Earth
is goldilocks ‘just right’ in its tilting towards the sun. )
Bowerbirds produce big-budget comedies about human efforts to keep them out. Especially nets. They find nets particularly hilarious. Guaranteed laughs.
Naychure Tricks, moso. (
And Big Governance tricks… The UN has declared war on conspiracy theorists, not their CT but ours. Unesco has
teamed up with Twitter and the EU to launch a campaign where Cits on the internet encountering a conspiracy theory must immediately report it to a “fact” checking website via the comment section.
Came across this via Ron Clutz blog.. https://rclutz.com/2023/06/07/new-band-in-town/
‘The World Is NOT Secretly Manipulated By Global Elite’
I have to agree with the fact-checkers here. The world is blatantly, incompetently and ham-fistedly bungled by said Global Elite. It’s just that monumental stupidity gives a similar outcome to demonic malevolence. Hence the confusion among “conspiracy theorists”.
There. Fixed it for ’em.
Conservatism, fuddy duddy it is not,
In fact it is the opposite.
Yu might like this ( or peut etre) yu may not…
Serfs can’t speak for toffs, nor anyone for
anyone else, us not being mind-readers.
Melanie Phillips: Reflections on the Revolution in the West
My serf, I had been alerted to this clip by family on the Murdoch “right”. While such sensible responses to woke madness are welcome, I get the feeling that they are an outlet or pressure release rather than a true, hard opposition to the globster plan. The Murdoch right is, in fact, communism with the brakes discreetly applied to give conservatives time to catch up with the globster train. (As to tradition and ancient institutions, who could be more of a commie puppet than degenerates like King Charles, Pope Francis or the kiddie-fiddling Dalai Lama? And who promoted the Covidian cult more vigorously than JoNova before slyly stepping back into her skeptic/conservative role?)
Yesterday, while preparing mass soup ahead of State of Origin (may Qld rot), I listened to what I would call a true, hard opposition to the communist takeover now coming to its peak. The person speaking is no comforting or comfortable conservative. She is, in fact, of the old left and a lesbian Democrat, but when you’ve had time to hear what she has to say you might guess why her sudden death (ahem) would be welcome to our globster controllers…
https://www.bitchute.com/video/3iK3EIXIfHU/
If I seem harsh, remember that we are fighting communism here. And it’s close to winning.
moso, I heard that Rosa Koire is dead. (
Yes, not long after the video above. Killing is not a problem for the globsters. It’s living that hard for these self-haters and they’re actually bewildered by those who love life unconditionally. Better they should reign in hell (or Edgbaston today, if that’s gloomier).
My toff, Rosa Koire died of lung cancer Not every death is assassination. I was so lucky to be a student of Geoffrey Blainey who erncouraged his students to study context ‘n data.
Indeed, it may have been lung cancer. But I’ve reached the point of saying always: “they would say that, wouldn’t they”. The “natural” death of the inventor of the PCR test (and Nobel laureate) just ahead of the Covid stunt may indeed have been natural. On the other hand, the mass execution of pre-stacked inflatable dummies in a Christchurch mosque passes easily as actual killing. At Port Arthur – where the deaths were real as far as I can make out – all the evidence was ignored then destroyed, no trial was ever held…yet the public was convinced without the slightest question. For now, the killers own the game, whether they are killing or faking.
But I happen to be in the middle of reading: https://beththeserf.wordpress.com/2023/06/01/83rd-edition-serf-under_ground-journal/
Any other readers here please check out this very interesting article at the serf-underground. It has actual meat on its bones. Take some trouble!
With regard to Port Arthur massacre I agree with you, no transparency and most suspicious. Thx toff for my serf post recommendation, it has been my least viewed edition, guess every dog has its day… )
Once I was merrie but now I am not, family in Rome,
a serf laid low by Western Fascism’s take over-
cheer me up,-I’m ashamed to say I feel like i’m going under.
My mind, because the minds that I have loved,
The sort of beauty that I have approved,
Prosper but little, has dried up of late,
Yet knows that to be choked with hate
May well be of all evil chances chief.
If there’s no hatred in a mind
Assault and battery of the wind
Can never tear the linnet from the leaf.
Well, toff, living in the Age of Aquarius hasn’t turned out well has it? Utopias requiring micro management by visionaries quickly morph into Distopias…My response-
to keep on reeling and rithing.
The Age of Aquarius and the entire counter-culture of our youth were part of a calculated military operation which is now reaching completion. No guns or uniforms, just constant mental conditioning through entertainment, media and education. It matters not to our controllers whether we choose culture or counter-culture, so long as we react to the scripts they provide. Left/right. Long/short hair. Hippie/straight. Two choices not enough? Those of us with a contradicting, independent streak are now provided with fake contradictors (Farage, Petersen, Currie etc) to keep us in bounds and receptive.
The trick is to demilitarise the mind, reject the scripting. I can still listen to these two mainstream guys…
But if Oliver and Delingpole turn out to be controlled like the others I won’t have formed any attachment, I’ve merely listened and gleaned. Truly, this default detachment helps me to stay relatively happy in such unhappy times. Only God is God. There. I said it.
The Delingpole/Oliver interview was very funny and much of it could have come from my own mouth, though not
expressed in the funny, descriptive way that Neil Oliver did.
I met James Delingpole when he came to Australia and
we enjoyed a joke together.
I agree with you that we should resist the scripting, avoid the constant nanny-state messaging of media like the ABC and SBS. We do need to practise stoicism, but we have to be careful, serfs think, not to get ourselves so enclosed in armour that we live in an echo chamber. No two people, unless living in a cult, can have exactly the same opinion
none of us can be 100% right in a complex world, (we need sea travel and the fizz of ports,) and I agree with Oliver that censorship is one of the worst things that can happen in a society. I’m writing a post about this now.
Listening again, archaeologists finding gender fluid graves! 🙂
Last night I watched the video of Kenneth Clark’s Civilisation episode ‘By The Skin of our Teeth,’ reminding us that it’s happened before, Western Civilisation almost brought to an end by barbarian raiding or loss of confidence – the ol’ fear’n guilt trick fear and guilt trick.
Someone gave me the video, what visuals by western creators and bulders – from aquaducts to cathedrals. Next episode the Abbot Sugar and Notre Dame.
Here’s a link I found on the Internet, no quite as dazzling as the original.
You had me at “aquaduct”.
WE will decide mico-management by platonic and ant-humanist elites … Agenda 21, Bill Gates et AL and other God players what yu may do. WE ourselves are exempt from such limitations.
Indeed, this needs to be circulated more. Oliver is one of the few mainstream figures who lay it all on the line. Others play at resistance and scepticism (think JoNova) while reinforcing the main globster narratives.
As a toff, I am at least grateful that the elites are incapable of dissembling one weakness: their vulgarity. From Gates to the Duke of Edinburgh…they’re all as common as muck.
These two young ladies seem to be on the level…and they show some breeding even in the throes of sarcasm…
https://www.bitchute.com/video/lHCjtJTIYXsT/?list=subscriptions
https://www.bitchute.com/video/aAC1cZCHvIDl/?list=subscriptions
Serfs’ like Triggernometry but cannot STAND Neil de Grass Tyson. He epitomises the know-all viewpoint of
progressivist elites,whatever class-colour-culchur … I can’t STAND him and he never lets anyone else finish a sentence.
He don’t have no manners. )
This slobbering hoon is simultaneously in the pay of Big Smug and Big Bombast. (Moreover the International Space Station is as fake as Mexican Alien Dolls. Faker, even.)
Back from the brink…Oz cits refused to sign a blank cheque,
at least fer now.
I dare say the main goal has been achieved…namely, DIVISION. While most Australian manufactures go backward, the manufacture of division goes forward.
Gotta tell yu, in the midst of human bad behaviour in the Middle East (and further afield) , on the golf course, mini -Eden, sky like Hokusai Red Fuji, ( purfect) I am busy writing about eagles and there outside the window, a giant wedge tail in a spiral … my heart leapt up … ( like Wordsworth said. )
Spotting a full-grown wedge-tail outside one’s window….that’s full Roman. Here I keep looking for regent bowerbirds in the exuberantly flowering silky oaks. Haven’t spotted one yet.
I don’t mind a bit of Whitman. Certainly I don’t mind his Dalliance of the Eagles….
SKIRTING the river road, (my forenoon walk, my rest,)
Skyward in air a sudden muffled sound, the dalliance of the eagles,
The rushing amorous contact high in space together,
The clinching interlocking claws, a living, fierce, gyrating wheel,
Four beating wings, two beaks, a swirling mass tight grappling,
In tumbling turning clustering loops, straight downward falling,
Till o’er the river pois’d, the twain yet one, a moment’s lull,
A motionless still balance in the air, then parting, talons loosing,
Upward again on slow-firm pinions slanting, their separate diverse
flight,
She hers, he his, pursuing.
I don’t mind a bit of Whitman, nearly wrote Whitlam, 🙂 either.
The death spiral of a pair of eagles is apparently a test, are they each up to it, before they mate for life. Sometimes they crash.
eagle-courtship-ritual/218973392863464/
It existed 5 minutes ago.
Never mind the sensational title – this is an absorbing (and long)
interview with a thoughtful overview at the end.
v=nA0OXZuaG0g&t=26s&ab_channel=All-InPodcast
Postscript; hey toff, saw the eagle today, calling it a good day!
Some evidence of thought there. Even a sense of history and context? Here’s hoping.
That eagle. Always a good sign, at least in our hemisphere.
There’s a little more water in my dam, big fat water lilies are bursting open…and a pair of black ducks are cuddling up. Love their confidence.
Don”t know if this will get through but Wishing You a Happy Christmas.
And a Happy Christmas to my serf.
If you will struggle through some antique Frogsay…https://www.croirepublications.com/blog/un-jour-dans-l-histoire/25-decembre-ballade-du-jour-de-noel-par-clement-marot
It’s a fave with me. A tiny kid clobbers the shit out of a monster globo serpent on the 25th of December. Using a heavy cross, no less. Should be more of it.
Rimes finissent avec ‘c (k).
Like a serpent Scylla or Charybdis the crashing rock
The United Nations rises from that wreck
The League of Nations, and as it grows it sucks
The liberties of States by many stealthy acts.
Allez vos citoyens, give it such a knock
That it will never (ever) recover from the shock.
I do believe you have caught that old Marot rhythm and beat. (After him French poetry went all slithery and lost it tumpty-tump.)
Anything caught was not by design, )
‘I caught this morning morning’s minion, king−
dom of daylight’s dauphin, dapple−dawn−drawn Falcon…’
Well not this morning but actually this afternoon. Twice, soaring in the southern sky above the Golf Club Car Park.
I hated Hopkins and his dapple-dawn-drawn falcon in my youth. Now, however, those lines rattle agreeably in this ageing skull. He’s now on that very short list of Jesuits I will tolerate. (Guess which Argie Jesuit is not on the list.)
Recently I saw two moons. One behind the other. Thought my eyes had failed till I dragged two neighbours outside as witnesses. What was all that about? If we look up more we see all sorts of things. Alas, not a Regent Bower Bird this year or last.
Yes, look up 🙂
Shame about the Regent Bower Birds.
I am not too fond of GMH. One is too aware of his art, serfs think, unlike Chaucer or Frost.
Frost was my big love in late teens. I’ve always had a soft spot for Tennyson, uber-Victorian that he was. The best of Pope, so ordered and “finished”, has always been a corrective for my general slobbiness. My school desk was a swamp, my head a mass of distraction…but there was always Pope, so perfectly measured but varied, every beat, rhyme, assonance and caesura placed so fastidiously. Some find him too regular and crafted, I find him sublime.
Fave modern? I’d have to say Cavafy. Sad old poof, but I love him. No Nobel fodder there, just poetry. “Though we know the Medes will crash through in the end.”
My desk too, and concentration likewise. Bits of orange peel and scribbled verse combined together in a tangled mess. )
…
Pope’s heroic couplets appear effortless,
Sound unites with meaning in judious stress,
‘When Ajax strives, some rock’s vast weight to throw,
The line too labours and the words more slow…’