Olivia
Online
Haleric
@Haleric2
“Looking at the world as a whole, the drift for many decades has been not towards anarchy but towards the reimposition of slavery.” George Orwell
Joined June 2018
293 Following
235 Followers
7K Posts
Let me categorically Debunk this utter rot. @sainsburys.
I am a poultry Breeder. The hens that lay white eggs (Amberline/White Star) DO NOT have a lower carbon footprint.
Yes they eat a bit less and produce roughly the same amount of eggs as the Brown egg layers (Bovan/Lowman/ISA Brown) but they live shorter lives, are prone to dying suddenly when startled, a flighty and nervous and because they live shorter productive lives (12 -18mnths) vs brown 18/24mnths (both commercial farmed), you have to incubate more which is increased (Electricity/gas costs) and their eggs are not the same quality.
I breed and keep 20+ different breeds, including: ISA Brown hens and White Stars. All my hens are 100% free range, Not a single barn kept bird, I have ISA browns that are 5yrs old and still laying beautiful Brown eggs, I have not seen a White star live beyond 3yrs and certainly none have laid eggs past 18-24mnths.
White stars Lay themselves to death. They are slender birds and because they dont eat a lot, it drains their personal vitality to keep up laying the eggs you want to sell because of the nonsensical lie that they are "More Carbon Neutral"
You want to know about eggs, come talk to someone like me, Don't rely on some hairbrained imagination of a buyer who's trying to squeeze the profit margin for a few extra pennies at our expense and to the poor hens detriment.
@Osint613 Zzzz....😏
Brilliant...again....😏
Chloe got a cat in October. She named him Mungo. Mungo is, by Chloe's own description, the love of her life.
This morning Chloe is concerned about Mungo.
7:30am - Breakfast. Chloe's: overnight oats. Mungo's: a plant-based cat food that arrived in compostable packaging and costs more per kilo than the salmon Chloe no longer buys. The packaging features a cartoon cat looking delighted. The real cat is looking at the bowl the way you look at a tax return.
8:00am - Mungo has not eaten. Chloe has read that cats can be fussy. This is true. It is also true that a cat is an obligate carnivore, which means its body cannot manufacture taurine, cannot convert plant precursors into the retinol it needs, and cannot make arachidonic acid from anything that ever grew in soil. The cat is not being difficult. The cat is being a cat. Chloe has not read this part.
10:00am - Chloe posts a photo of Mungo. Caption: "Raising him cruelty-free." Mungo, in the photo, stares directly into the lens with an expression several commenters describe as haunting.
1:00pm - Mungo catches a mouse in the garden and eats the entire thing with a focus and competence that suggests he has located, by instinct, the precise thing his bowl was missing. Chloe witnesses this. Chloe is upset, though she could not fully say on whose behalf.
4:00pm - Chloe googles "why is my cat losing weight on vegan food." She reads two paragraphs. She closes the tab. She opens a different tab and orders a more expensive plant-based cat food, this one endorsed by a nutritionist. The nutritionist is also vegan. The cat remains an obligate carnivore. None of the parties involved have consulted the cat.
8:00pm - Mungo sits at the window watching the garden where the mice are.
Mungo knows what he is. Chloe is still working on it.
@ajcdeane ..the Moon Base...and a lot cheaper to boot...
@Osint613 When is a cease fire....not a cease fire...😏
@GuidoFawkes I still detest the Tory Party as a whole for what they did or didn't do...but you have to say...Kemi's really getting the hang of PMQ's....good on her...shame about the rest of her Party...
@monkeygoing2 @TiceRichard Whatever..😏....they are currently not in power with a massive majority...Labour are...there is no one else to blame on 31st December...
@monkeygoing2 @TiceRichard Perhaps when you're out on the piss on New Years eve this year...just take a couple of minutes to reflect on the unemployment figures at the time...especially youth unemployment...I suspect it will be shocking...
@monkeygoing2 @TiceRichard All Politicians are full of shit, but at least Reform talk about reducing tax ie raising the income tax threshold to £20,000 (albeit in steps)..removing the Nut zero taxes would be a big help to employers and loopy high energy prices. What Labour has done is kill the job market
@monkeygoing2 @TiceRichard The very worst thing for working people is unemployment...which Labour has basically hit the UK with...especially youth unemployment...(look at the recent numbers)...signs are by the end of the year it could be dire...
You can't force private sector employers to employ...
@Bryanmc67 @NoFarmsNoFoods No...but the BBC don't get to decide whether I can or cannot watch it without the TV tax....
A bit like shopping in Sainsburys but having to pay Tesco's for the privilege...
If there is any truth in this....I'm gobsmacked...literally...
BREAKING: NIH ebola expert ARRESTED by the FBI for smuggling deadly pathogens into America from the Congo
Vincent Munster was BUSTED at an airport with 113 vials containing monkeypox, chickenpox, and human DNA.
93 of the vials haven't even been tested yet......
The Japanese guards thought the young American medic was stealing medicine for himself.
Years later, survivors learned he had been giving away his own blood to dying prisoners one hidden syringe at a time.
They called him Doc Holloway.
The camp commandant called him the useless one.
Private First Class Daniel Holloway was 24 years old when the Japanese captured him on Bataan in April 1942.
Before the war, Danny had been studying medicine at the University of Missouri. Small-town boy. Church pianist. The kind of young man who apologized too much and carried extra pencils in his pockets because someone else might need one.
When Pearl Harbor happened, he enlisted as an Army medic before finishing school.
He thought he would spend the war saving lives.
He never imagined he would spend most of it watching men disappear.
By spring 1942, American and Filipino forces in the Philippines were starving. Supplies gone. Malaria everywhere. Dysentery spreading through exhausted troops living on scraps of rice.
Then came surrender.
Nearly 75,000 prisoners were forced onto what history would call the Bataan Death March.
The heat killed first.
Then dehydration.
Then the guards.
Men who stumbled were beaten, bayoneted, or simply left beside the road to die beneath the sun. Prisoners drank from muddy ditches despite knowing the water carried disease because thirst hurt worse than fear.
Danny tried treating wounded men while marching.
A guard smashed a rifle butt across his face for stopping too long beside a dying corporal.
After that, he treated people while walking.
Tearing strips from uniforms for bandages.
Holding collapsing soldiers upright so guards wouldn’t notice weakness.
Whispering to delirious men about home.
Kansas wheat fields.
Chicago winters.
Baseball games.
Anything except the road.
One prisoner later remembered:
“He made dying men feel like human beings again for five minutes.”
Thousands never reached the camps.
Danny did.
Camp O’Donnell first.
Then Cabanatuan.
Places built less for imprisonment than slow destruction.
Disease spread constantly. Beriberi. Malaria. Cholera. Starvation so severe men fought quietly over banana peels in garbage pits after dark.
Medical supplies barely existed.
Japanese guards considered medicine wasted on prisoners expected to die anyway.
But Danny still called himself a medic.
Even after his uniform rotted into rags.
Even after his weight dropped below one hundred pounds.
Every morning, he walked barracks checking pulses and fevers with fingers so thin they looked skeletal.
He shared his own food constantly.
Half a spoon of rice.
A sip of broth.
Anything.
The prisoners begged him to stop.
“You’ll kill yourself.”
Danny always answered the same way:
“They’re sicker than me.”
Then came the malaria outbreak of 1944.
Hundreds collapsed.
Men burned with fever so intense they hallucinated snow falling inside jungle barracks.
The Japanese released tiny amounts of quinine only for prisoners strong enough to keep working.
The weak were left untreated.
Danny began stealing medicine.
Not dramatically.
Quietly.
One vial at a time.
A sympathetic Filipino laborer working near the supply hut smuggled tiny amounts toward the prisoners. Danny hid the medicine inside bamboo supports beneath the floorboards.
At night, he crawled barrack to barrack treating dying men in darkness while guards slept.
But malaria medicine alone wasn’t enough.
Many prisoners were too weak from starvation to survive blood loss from disease and beatings.
Then Danny noticed something.
Despite starvation, he remained strangely healthy compared to others.
Universal donor blood type.
O-negative.
And an idea so dangerous it bordered on madness began forming.
Using scavenged tubing, stolen syringes, and improvised needles boiled over hidden fires, Danny started secretly giving his own blood directly to dying prisoners.
No records.
No equipment.
No safety.
Just one starving man lying beside another inside bamboo barracks while jungle rain hammered the roof overhead.
Again and again.
Until Danny himself could barely stand afterward.
One former prisoner remembered waking from fever to see Danny pale as paper beside him.
“I thought he was dying too,” the man said later.
“Then I realized his blood was running into my arm.”
The guards eventually noticed something strange.
Prisoners expected to die kept surviving.
Not many.
But enough.
A Japanese officer accused Danny directly during interrogation.
“You steal medicine for yourself.”
Danny looked at his own skeletal body and laughed weakly.
“If I was stealing for myself,” he whispered, “I’d look better than this.”
The officer beat him unconscious anyway.
By late 1944, American bombing intensified around the Philippines.
The Japanese began evacuating prisoners onto “hell ships” — cargo vessels packed with POWs and sent toward Japan under horrific conditions.
No markings identified them as prisoner transports.
American submarines attacked many accidentally.
Danny was loaded onto one in December.
The hold below deck was darkness, vomit, sweat, blood, and screaming packed so tightly prisoners couldn’t sit down fully.
Men suffocated standing upright.
Others went insane from thirst.
Danny spent the voyage moving through the darkness touching foreheads, checking breathing, giving away water he desperately needed himself.
One Marine later said:
“He walked around that ship like a ghost carrying mercy.”
Near Formosa, the ship was struck during an American air attack.
Chaos exploded instantly.
Steam.
Fire.
Flooding compartments.
Japanese guards sealed lower hatches to stop prisoners escaping.
Hundreds drowned screaming beneath the decks.
Danny and several others managed to break through a side hatch after an explosion warped the metal.
Prisoners fell burning into the sea around them.
Oil covered the water.
Danny couldn’t swim well.
But witnesses later said he kept pushing weaker men toward floating wreckage instead of saving himself.
One survivor remembered Danny supporting a blinded prisoner in the water for nearly an hour.
The rescue boats reached them at dusk.
Only then did the blinded man realize Danny had disappeared beneath the waves sometime during the final minutes.
Still holding him up.
His body was never recovered.
After the war, survivors searched desperately for information about “Doc Holloway.”
Many knew almost nothing about him.
Only fragments.
Missouri.
Medical student.
Played piano.
Gave away food.
Shared blood.
In 1948, former POWs pooled money to find Danny’s mother, Eleanor Holloway, living alone outside St. Louis.
They arrived carrying letters.
Dozens of them.
Stories from men who had survived because of her son.
One former prisoner handed her a small rusted syringe wrapped carefully in cloth.
“He used this on me,” the man said quietly.
“She kept the syringe beside her bed until she died.”
Years later, military historians investigating POW survival rates found something astonishing.
Men housed in Danny Holloway’s barracks survived malaria outbreaks at significantly higher rates than nearby camps despite identical conditions.
Nobody could fully explain why until survivors compared memories decades later.
Then the stories aligned.
The stolen quinine.
The nighttime treatments.
The blood transfusions performed by a starving medic using almost nothing except courage and refusal.
In 1997, surviving former prisoners gathered at the National World War II Memorial construction ceremony.
Most were old men by then.
Walking slowly.
Hands trembling.
One carried a faded photograph of a smiling young medic in uniform holding medical textbooks under one arm.
Daniel Holloway.
Age 24 forever.
Before the ceremony ended, several survivors quietly placed small glass bottles near the memorial site.
Empty blood vials.
No speeches explained them.
None were needed.
Because somewhere beneath the history of war and strategy and nations fighting across oceans lives the story of one exhausted American medic who entered a prison camp with nothing left to give —
and somehow kept giving pieces of himself away anyway.
Literally.
One drop at a time.
@LeeAndersonMP_ Pointless...he won't answer....😏
@KemiBadenoch Nowadays you seem to be a lone voice in a pseudo Tory Party...
Brown rice is what you order when you want the waiter to know you have made peace with joylessness in exchange for health points. The arsenic is the twist nobody puts on the menu.
Rice has a problem unique among grains. It grows in flooded paddies, sitting in standing water for months, and it draws arsenic out of the soil roughly ten times more eagerly than wheat or barley. That arsenic concentrates in the bran, the grain's outer layer. White rice has the bran polished off. Brown rice keeps it, because the bran is where the fibre and minerals live. It is also, inconveniently, where the arsenic lives.
A 2025 analysis found brown rice carries around 24% more total arsenic and 40% more inorganic arsenic, the form classed as a known human carcinogen, than white. You upgraded to the wholegrain and quietly upgraded your carcinogen dose along with it.
Then the ecology, which nobody ever pins on rice, because rice looks so very innocent. Those flooded paddies are anaerobic, and the microbes thriving in them belch methane on an industrial scale. Rice cultivation produces something like 10% of all human methane emissions and roughly a fifth of agricultural methane. Cattle get filmed for documentaries about their burps. Rice quietly produces a tenth of the world's methane while flooding entire landscapes and hoarding arsenic, then takes its place in the salad bar wearing a wellness halo.
Cows are dragged through the climate courts every week. The rice paddy, doing serious damage of its own, sits in your grain bowl with the expression of something that has never done anything wrong in its life. Curious, isn't it, which foods we decide to interrogate.
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