Clarkson's Farm Quotes

But in my mind tractors are like penises. They cannot be too big.

The next day I called my neighbouring farmers to say I was going to have a coronary, and they all had the same piece of advice. I had to accept whatever happens, because that’s farming. They also said I had to be patient, which is not possible. I can’t be patient. It’s not in my DNA. It’s a bit like telling Nicholas Witchell he has to be a Moroccan cage fighter.

I will grant you, however, that the jet fighter does look better than a combine. Other things that look better than a combine include most wheelbarrows, your chest freezer, the marabou stork, the Chrysler PT Cruiser and Kim Jong-un’s hair.

Most people can bend over to pick stuff up without thinking, but it’s no longer possible for me. If I bend at the hips, I get a jarring pain in my kidneys, and if I bend at the knee, I know I will not be able to get up again. This is a problem, because the ability to bend over in farming is as important as the ability to do strangling in the special forces.

If there has never been a farm shop, then there should never be a farm shop. Especially if it’s run by someone who, like me, has lived in the area for only twenty-five years. I bet when Alexander Fleming invented penicillin, the village elders ran around saying that diarrhoea had been a part of rural life for hundreds of years and that they wanted to make sure it stayed that way.

love Africa. Wish it didn’t have to be this way, but if we weren’t here, the French would take over this fortress in the blink of an eye. And everybody’s doing it. The British. The French. The Dutch. The Americans. Even the bloody Africans have been mixed up in the trade for an eternity.” “That doesn’t make it right.” “If we didn’t take the slaves, other Africans would kill them. Butcher them live. At least we provide a market, and keep them alive.” “If you stopped, the market would wither.” “You have not been to England, so let me tell you something. Ninety-nine Englishmen out of one hundred take their tea with sugar. We live for our tea, cakes, pies and candies. We live for the stuff, and we will not be deprived.” “But you don’t need slaves to make sugar,” I said. “In the West Indies, only the blacks work in the cane fields. Only the blacks can stand it.” “You could do something else with this fortress.” “What, like your beloved John Clarkson in Freetown?” I nodded. Armstrong pounded his fist on a table. “Has the Colony in Freetown produced a single export? Where is the sugar cane? Where is the coffee? Are you exporting boatloads of elephant teeth or camwood? You’re not even growing corn, or rice. You have no farms under cultivation. You aren’t even self-sufficient.” I wasn’t ready for this argument. My mind circled around, looking for a response. “There is no profit in benevolence,” Armstrong said. “None. The colony in Freetown is child’s play, financed by the deep pockets of rich abolitionists who don’t know a thing about Africa.

Wars battle cruiser has had sex with Edward Scissorhands, and what it does is breathtaking. The operator drives up to the tree and tells the machine what sort

assassin took his gun out of his crutch.

In modern society, where anyone in theory can make money, it is difficult to appreciate that once upon a time wealth was tied absolutely to social class, and therefore social class determined what you ate, even to the extent of determining the type of pastry making up your pie. Farming and household manuals of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries clearly instructed that the piecrust for the master's family be made from the finest wheat flour, whereas for the servants' piecrust the second milling of wheat or barley was to be used, or maslin (a mix of wheat and rye) or rye.