ALTHOUGH they are probably far too polite to be doing so, I wouldn’t blame the opponents of the importation of bull semen if they were laughing their little heads off right now.

Mind you, I doubt that even the most diehard opponent could have forecast either the scale or indeed the speed of what seems to this simple country boy to be one hell of a monumental cock-up.

Despite the somewhat glib platitudes offered by the head lad at the Royal Jersey Agricultural and Horticultural Society, I, and others I’ve spoken to who know more about cattle breeding than I will ever know, view this as little short of what might trendily be called as close to a worst case scenario as it’s possible to get.

As one retired cattleman told me as we sipped a little something in the tranquil surroundings of The Shed, all the safeguards that were promised by the proponents of semen importation – and I have to say that had I been involved I would probably have gone along with their view – seem to have disappeared into thin air.

What I can recall of the big and, not surprisingly, somewhat controversial debate is that much was made by those advocating the ‘bringing back to Jersey the best of the breed’ argument is that such were the safeguards in place elsewhere that importing semen from a ‘rogue’ bull – one with a questionable ancestry – was as close to impossible as it was possible to get.

Quite frankly, it really is a bit glib for the breed society locally to say that ‘although the mistake was regrettable, it proved that nothing could slip through the net’.

According to the society’s chief executive James Godfrey, the Island breed’s pedigree status remains as before and the herd book remains uncompromised. He added: ‘Although it’s unfortunate, the positive element is that the system picks up on any anomalies and there’s a screening process in place. The technology is improving all the time.’

Well, well, the positive element is that the system picks up on any anomalies. Sorry, but this obviously very simple country boy doesn’t quite get that. If the screening process is in place and the system picks up on any anomalies, then can someone please explain how it was that a hundred pure bred Jersey cows got pregnant by a bull whose grand-daddy was a red Holstein?

I’m tempted to use the quote about a lavatory seat my old granny used to use whenever the family got news of some poor unfortunate lass falling by the wayside, as the term was in those days, but I won’t. Nor will I comment on Mr Godfrey’s less than comforting assertion that the technology is improving all the time. My generation’s somewhat jaundiced, but frequently justifiable view on technology is that the more modern we get, the longer it takes and the less accurate it becomes.

My own view on this shambles, for what it’s worth, is that the safeguards should have been wholly in place long before that lot in the Big House debated this in July 2008.To suggest that it’s almost fine that the discovery was made before any of the ‘illegitimate’ calves were bred and then became milk producers is a nonsense. What if the cock-up hadn’t been discovered for another couple of years or, worse still, until one of the rogue bull’s progeny displayed Holstein characteristics.
Bit late then to start rubbing out entries in the hitherto pristine Jersey Herd Book, I’d have thought.

THERE used to be a thrift club at the pub I occasionally use – for recreational as well as medicinal purposes, I’m not ashamed to admit – but that died a death many years ago over some question marks about the treasurer.

I can recall that after that, along with a spate of licensees doing a runner at around Bonfire Night time, the breweries, which then owned and controlled most of the public houses, stepped in with some supervisory measures that seemed to stop the rot.

Since then, so I gather, things have continued on pretty much an even keel and that’s a credit to the licensees and their helpers who run what for many people remains one of the only ways they can finance Christmas spending or, until pay as you go tax was introduced, the annual tax bill.

Thrift clubs are very much part of the Jersey social scene for these people, which is why it saddens me that Royal Bank of Scotland International – the outfit, most will recall, whose parent company’s apparent casual attitude in terms of financial prudence contributed to a financial disaster much greater than any thrift club member ever got involved in – have decided that dealing with these savings accounts is too much bother for them.

I have no doubt that for the old Jersey Trustee Savings Bank in New Street, dealing with the savings accounts of youngsters like me, who used to take a few pence a week to school on Monday mornings so that when it got to a quid I would get a proper TSB bank book, was also a lot of bother.

Of course, the difference between the TSB of yesteryear and banks these days, not only RBSI, I hasten to add, is that in the old days all customers were valued customers because they tended to become even more valued as the years rolled by.

Now, it seems to me, unless they can make a quick buck out of everyone, and so keep the bonuses up to the level to which they’ve become accustomed, they just don’t want to know.

My advice to everyone concerned with thrift clubs is to try the Co-op Bank. They might be in the market for doing a deal.

And finally…while the current activity on Island roads – repairs, allegedly, and the like – might be part of this financial stimulus programme, as far as I’m concerned what I’ve seen on Victoria Avenue looks like a waste of money.