Mere mortal’s huhhh.
Don’t see many of them here-abouts.
I remember a very funny story in that vein. It goes like this. It was during the BTEC campaign. Old campaigners know all about the eradication of bovine TB in OZ’s northern cattle herds over a thirteen year period during the nineties..
Pilots were often called upon to operate like magicians doing incredible hours and getting cleaner musters than ever with all the rank cattle that all the horsemen legends for years had missed.
Govt stock inspectors also did many hours working in the yards all day needling with tuberculin or reading the reactions of up to 3,000 head at a time then driving most of the night to the next location. Rum was their constant companion. Easy to carry see.
We were at the house of a famous Authoress. They had house guests. They all knew each other with all their kids at a posh southern school.
The father – from the south – was a bit of stud breeder of some strange breed and was plying the local stock inspector with many questions about “local genotypes, breed characteristics” and other phraseology and using words longer than corrugated-iron.
Now it wasn’t done to destroy the host’s cocktail cabinet, even under such strenuous conditions because, remember, we had to perform another miracle come daylight.
The southern knob was also trying to interest the local boss into taking on some of his “top cattle” to cross with his local cattle. Now that would have made as much sense as sending a Masai warrior to Iceland to live off the land, but we still weathered this onslaught with manners - and just a little sip or two.
Finally the southerner’s interest turned to the qualifications of Stock Inspectors; because of our embellishments he was sure that they were more qualified than any veterinarian than he had ever seen. And he’d seen a few, just ask him.
“Tell me bluey” he says “what does it take to do this job?”
‘Easy’ says Blue the stockie, ‘A-carton-a-pi@@-a day, an-drive-all-night!’