Me Dad was trying to trade some sugar beet yesterday, and the potential buyer wanted to know if it was non-GM, as his customer (a petfood manufacturer) would only buy it if it was. I can tell you with some degree of authority that pets don't care if the stuff is non-GM or not. Most of us eat our own shit given half a chance. The last time I went for a walk on Saltburn beach I had a severed seagull's head in my mouth for Christ's sake. Until me Dad wrestled it from my tightly clenched grip, the tight bastard. I've got no idea of the GM status of my own shit or severed seagull's heads, but I suspect that they don't come will a lot in the way of paperwork if you get my drift. Pooh count: a respectable four, and it's not even teatime yet.
You couldn't make it up could you. I spent much of the weekend dozing on the sofa watching telly. Glastonbury was on, although sad to say there was no Snoop Dog, Bone Jovi or any other canine related artists. The big news seemed to be the lack of female headliners and now we know why as one scored a spectacular own goal. She missed her slot cos she was doing her hair. It takes ages she said. Why NOT start doing your hair well before your show time. Aaagh no where's my handbag I've left it in the car, I've got to back to fetch it.