...look out Milton Keynes...you couldn't make it up. Why cows I wonder?
Bovine works of art
Re: Bovine works of art
Think they are just looking to milk the public for a change.foxy wrote: Why cows I wonder?
Whoever thought this up deserves a pat on the back.
Re: Bovine works of art
I wonder how long these works will be on display before they moove them to pastures new.Porty wrote:Think they are just looking to milk the public for a change.foxy wrote: Why cows I wonder?
Whoever thought this up deserves a pat on the back.
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Jackson Priest
- Posts: 493
- Joined: 30 Aug 2005, 16:57
- Location: Marlborough Street
- Contact:
Porty wrote:They could always put a jersey. We could rustle up a fire to keep them warm.Jackson Priest wrote:It's a good job they're on display in the summer, because otherwise they'll be friesian.
I just hope the company doing the installation are a bunch of cowboys.
I hope they aren't as I have a steak in that company.
Are you sure you're not just trying to hide? That's what Porty does when he's on the horns of a dilema - either that or steer the argument away from it's original path. It's very much an on-the-hoof tactic, and typical of his brand of conversation.Ed wrote:I wont be able to get along to see the cows as I have a week 'aff.
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Jackson Priest
- Posts: 493
- Joined: 30 Aug 2005, 16:57
- Location: Marlborough Street
- Contact:
Alan: You're joining me, Alan Partridge, and Peter Baxendale Thomas of the Norfolk Farmer's Union. Now, yesterday I, sort of, trod in a rather large farmer's pat when I made some comments about intensive farming. Where did I go wrong?
Peter: Well I think your comments were ill founded. They were deeply ignorant, they showed a complete lack of understanding of modern agricultural methods, and simply served to highlight the sort of intense stupidity that farmers encounter from armchair pundits who forget to think before they open their mouths. But with a full and frank apology that you're about to give us this morning I'm sure you can dig yourself out of this rather ugly hole.
[Alan has looked increasingly irritated throughout Peter's speech. He now forces a smile.]
Alan: Yeah. Erm, sorry. Er, do you have any requests, anybody you want to say hello to, or...?
Peter: Look, I'm just trying to say that when you make ignorant comments like you did the other day, you serve simply to alarm the public and inflame the farmers, which is exactly what you've done. Why don't you just apologise and make it nice and simple?
[Alan interrupts Peter with a loud impression of a cow's moo.]
Alan: Thought that'd fool you. You could talk the hind-legs off a donkey. But your donkeys are probably born without hind legs because of all the chemicals you put in their chips.
Peter: Alan, I don't have donkeys. And even if I did I wouldn't feed them chips. This is exactly the sort of rubbish you came up with the other day when you talked about putting a spine in a bap.
Alan: I admit that was a mistake. I shouldn't have said bap.
Peter: Well, good. Well, that's a start.
Alan: Well, no, I should have said baguette. Because a spinal column would fit in a baguette.
Peter: Listen, you've upset half the farmers in this community. You seem to alienate everybody you come across, including, I gather, your wife, which is why you end up living like some bloody tramp in a lay-by.
Alan: It's a travel tavern.
Peter: I don't care what you call your sordid little grief-hole. It makes no difference to me. The fact is that an awful lot of my colleagues are...
Alan: [Interrupting] Are farmyard animals, yes.
Peter: You're talking about my friends, here.
Alan: I've probably got more friends than you've got cows.
Peter: This is ridiculous.
Alan: How many cows have you got?
Peter: I've got a hundred cattle.
Alan: Yeah, I've got a hundred and four friends.
Peter: I don't see what this is going to gain you. Why don't you just issue a frank and full retraction of what you said, and you'll get yourself out of a lot of silly bother.
Alan: Yeah, you are a big posh sod with plums in your mouth.
Peter: I don't think it's got anything to do with class
Alan: And the plums have mutated and they've got beaks.
Peter:Beaks?
Alan: Yes, beaks.
Peter: Have you got any more of this, or do you want to stop at quacking plums?
Alan: No, no. You make pigs smoke.
Peter: I want to know where you think you earned the right to go swanning off on these ludicrous flights of ...
Alan: Ah, swans. You feed beefburgers to swans.
Peter: Do I?
Alan: Yes, you do.
Peter: All right, well, perhaps you can tell me what's wrong with feeding beefburgers to swans?
Alan: What?
Peter: Well if you fill a swan's stomach up with beefburgers it's full of fat and it'll float better. That's why we do it.
Alan:Really?
Peter: No, you complete cretin. I'm just contributing to this total farce. What else are you going to accuse me of?
Alan: I'll tell you what. You farmers, you don't like outsiders, do you? You like to stick to your own.
Peter: What do you mean by that?
Alan: I've seen the big-eared boys on farms.
Peter: Oh, for goodness' sake.
Alan: If you see a lovely field with a family having a picnic, and there's a nice pond in it, you fill in the pond with concrete, you plough the family into the field, you blow up the tree, and use the leaves to make a dress for your wife who's also your brother.
Peter:Look, have I got anything else to say here or shall I go?
Alan: Well, listen, I'll tell you what the point is. You have big sheds, but nobody's allowed in, and inside these big sheds are twenty-foot high chickens. Because of all the chemicals you put in them.
[While Alan talks, Peter shakes his head, gathers his stuff together, and goes to leave.]
Alan: And these chickens are scared. They don't know why they're so big. They go "oh why am I so massive?" And they're looking down on all the other little chickens, and they think they're in an aeroplane because all the other chickens are so small - do you deny that? [Peter has left] No. His silence, I think, speaks volumes.
[Lynn enters the room. Alan gestures furiously at her to take Peter's seat. She does.]
Alan: And... and basically, do you agree that everything I've said thus far is completely correct?
Lynn: Yes.
[Alan mouthes "lower", and gestures.]
Lynn: [In a deep voice] Yes.
Alan: And do you also run over badgers in your tractor, for fun?
Lynn: Yes.
Alan: Thank you, Peter Baxendale Thomas. This is T'Pau.
Peter: Well I think your comments were ill founded. They were deeply ignorant, they showed a complete lack of understanding of modern agricultural methods, and simply served to highlight the sort of intense stupidity that farmers encounter from armchair pundits who forget to think before they open their mouths. But with a full and frank apology that you're about to give us this morning I'm sure you can dig yourself out of this rather ugly hole.
[Alan has looked increasingly irritated throughout Peter's speech. He now forces a smile.]
Alan: Yeah. Erm, sorry. Er, do you have any requests, anybody you want to say hello to, or...?
Peter: Look, I'm just trying to say that when you make ignorant comments like you did the other day, you serve simply to alarm the public and inflame the farmers, which is exactly what you've done. Why don't you just apologise and make it nice and simple?
[Alan interrupts Peter with a loud impression of a cow's moo.]
Alan: Thought that'd fool you. You could talk the hind-legs off a donkey. But your donkeys are probably born without hind legs because of all the chemicals you put in their chips.
Peter: Alan, I don't have donkeys. And even if I did I wouldn't feed them chips. This is exactly the sort of rubbish you came up with the other day when you talked about putting a spine in a bap.
Alan: I admit that was a mistake. I shouldn't have said bap.
Peter: Well, good. Well, that's a start.
Alan: Well, no, I should have said baguette. Because a spinal column would fit in a baguette.
Peter: Listen, you've upset half the farmers in this community. You seem to alienate everybody you come across, including, I gather, your wife, which is why you end up living like some bloody tramp in a lay-by.
Alan: It's a travel tavern.
Peter: I don't care what you call your sordid little grief-hole. It makes no difference to me. The fact is that an awful lot of my colleagues are...
Alan: [Interrupting] Are farmyard animals, yes.
Peter: You're talking about my friends, here.
Alan: I've probably got more friends than you've got cows.
Peter: This is ridiculous.
Alan: How many cows have you got?
Peter: I've got a hundred cattle.
Alan: Yeah, I've got a hundred and four friends.
Peter: I don't see what this is going to gain you. Why don't you just issue a frank and full retraction of what you said, and you'll get yourself out of a lot of silly bother.
Alan: Yeah, you are a big posh sod with plums in your mouth.
Peter: I don't think it's got anything to do with class
Alan: And the plums have mutated and they've got beaks.
Peter:Beaks?
Alan: Yes, beaks.
Peter: Have you got any more of this, or do you want to stop at quacking plums?
Alan: No, no. You make pigs smoke.
Peter: I want to know where you think you earned the right to go swanning off on these ludicrous flights of ...
Alan: Ah, swans. You feed beefburgers to swans.
Peter: Do I?
Alan: Yes, you do.
Peter: All right, well, perhaps you can tell me what's wrong with feeding beefburgers to swans?
Alan: What?
Peter: Well if you fill a swan's stomach up with beefburgers it's full of fat and it'll float better. That's why we do it.
Alan:Really?
Peter: No, you complete cretin. I'm just contributing to this total farce. What else are you going to accuse me of?
Alan: I'll tell you what. You farmers, you don't like outsiders, do you? You like to stick to your own.
Peter: What do you mean by that?
Alan: I've seen the big-eared boys on farms.
Peter: Oh, for goodness' sake.
Alan: If you see a lovely field with a family having a picnic, and there's a nice pond in it, you fill in the pond with concrete, you plough the family into the field, you blow up the tree, and use the leaves to make a dress for your wife who's also your brother.
Peter:Look, have I got anything else to say here or shall I go?
Alan: Well, listen, I'll tell you what the point is. You have big sheds, but nobody's allowed in, and inside these big sheds are twenty-foot high chickens. Because of all the chemicals you put in them.
[While Alan talks, Peter shakes his head, gathers his stuff together, and goes to leave.]
Alan: And these chickens are scared. They don't know why they're so big. They go "oh why am I so massive?" And they're looking down on all the other little chickens, and they think they're in an aeroplane because all the other chickens are so small - do you deny that? [Peter has left] No. His silence, I think, speaks volumes.
[Lynn enters the room. Alan gestures furiously at her to take Peter's seat. She does.]
Alan: And... and basically, do you agree that everything I've said thus far is completely correct?
Lynn: Yes.
[Alan mouthes "lower", and gestures.]
Lynn: [In a deep voice] Yes.
Alan: And do you also run over badgers in your tractor, for fun?
Lynn: Yes.
Alan: Thank you, Peter Baxendale Thomas. This is T'Pau.
We thought we could have it covered in £5 notes and call it the cashline moochine.
Re: Bovine works of art
When we visited our friends near Toronto in 2000, they had mooses all over the city!!!
Why be scared????
