I can't read this without tears coming to the eyes. To me it seems to sum up the insanity of the awful cruel world we have created, apparently without anyone to teach us what is right or wrong. Or maybe we just have not listened.

They let him out and turn a harrow down And there he fights the host of all the town. He licks the patting hand, and tries to play And never tries to bite or run away,

Lapt up as if asleep, he scorns to fly And seizes any dog that ventures nigh. Clapt like a dog, he never bites the men But worries dogs and hurries to his den.

Some keep a baited badger tame as hog And tame him till he follows like the dog. They urge him on like dogs and show fair play. He beats and scarcely wounded goes away.

He drives away and beats them every one, And then they loose them all and set them on. He falls as dead and kicked by boys and men, Then starts and grins and drives the crowd again;

He tries to reach the woods, an awkward race, But sticks and cudgels quickly stop the chase. He turns again and drives the noisy crowd And beats the many dogs in noises loud.

He drives the crowd and follows at their heels And bites them through ”the drunkard swears and reels. The frighted women take the boys away, The blackguard laughs and hurries on the fray.

The heavy mastiff, savage in the fray, Lies down and licks his feet and turns away. The bulldog knows his match and waxes cold, The badger grins and never leaves his hold.

The frequent stone is hurled where e'er they go; When badgers fight, then every one's a foe. The dogs are clapt and urged to join the fray; The badger turns and drives them all away. Though scarcely half as big, demure and small, He fights with dogs for bones and beats them all.

He runs along and bites at all he meets: They shout and hollo down the noisy streets. He turns about to face the loud uproar And drives the rebels to their very door.

They get a forked stick to bear him down And clap the dogs and take him to the town, And bait him all the day with many dogs, And laugh and shout and fright the scampering hogs.

He comes and hears "they let the strongest loose". The old fox hears the noise and drops the goose. The poacher shoots and hurries from the cry, And the old hare half wounded buzzes bye.

When midnight comes a host of dogs and men Go out and track the badger to his den, And put a sack within the hole, and lie Till the old grunting badger passes bye.

The shepherd's dog will run him to his den Followed and hooted by the dogs and men. The woodman when the hunting comes about Goes round at night to stop the foxes out And hurrying through the bushes to the chin Breaks the old holes, and tumbles headlong in.

The badger grunting on his woodland track With shaggy hide and sharp nose scrowed with black Roots in the bushes and the woods, and makes A great high burrow in the ferns and brakes. With nose on ground he runs an awkward pace, And anything will beat him in the race.

My friend Jane Evans (with thanks also to Bob Blizzard) sent me this - one of Clare's most heart-breaking pieces … recounting how, even in those days, the poor badgers were being persecuted. How unutterably sad that this barbarity is still going on today. The human race has so much to be ashamed of.

George Montbiot's piece is well worth reading, reminding us of the terrible effect we as a race have had on the countryside, not to mention our building of ever-expanding sterile cities.

I want to share with you a poem which follows on from George Monbiot's commemoration a couple of days ago of the poet John Clare (he was born at this time of year 200 years ago, and poetically wrote about the destruction of the Natural World by Man).

From the responses I have had, I think it's fair to say that the 'silent majority' seem to agree with my analysis, and that the paint job was opportunistic and in bad taste.

I have done that, and I've also given my opinion, as you saw, but that is all it is - an opinion. I'm certainly not going to try to tell Freddie's estate what to do, and I suggest you don't either - it's none of our business - either of us.

This was not in any way my decision. All I did was try to find out what really had happened, because I had been asked.

I'm sure we have not heard the end of this little escapade. As you say, a close look at the Freddie Gorilla doesn't inspire confidence. The Freddie Lion was done with great respect and obviously was a labour of love. On the other hand, it's hard to look at that Gorilla and not think that, in this case, someone was trying to 'take the piss' ! So, in my humble opinion, it was fitting that someone blew the whistle. But I would be surprised if there were not other little sub-plots lurking around.

As for unreleased material with Freddie singing … strangely enough I was working on some tapes this evening - with William Orbit. There are a few items in progress. We will have something for folks to hear in a couple of months' time, hopefully.