Wootton Bassett is a sleepy little Market Town situated a few miles south of Swindon. It is also a 'dormitory' town that serves RAF Lyneham, and which served RAF Wroughton when the hospital there was a functioning entity. During my RAF career I have had spells at RAF Lyneham, CIO (Careers Information Office) Swindon, and had occasion to use the medical facilities at RAF Wroughton. To say I know the town well would be an understatement!

So it is with mixed feelings, much of it tinged with sadness, that I watch the repatriation of our military personnel through the quiet streets of the little hamlet, and marvel at the genuine outpourings of grief and tributes of respect proffered to the funeral corteges each time this sad event takes place.

The processions through the streets, and the crowds that gather to pay their respects, have no political agenda. They gather to pay homage to fallen heroes, and to the members of their families for whom this must be the hardest, the most final act of affirmation.

Imagine my sense of outrage when a dick-head called Anjem Choudary announced that his group, Islam4UK, intended to hold a 'protest' march through the streets of Wootton Bassett in which fake coffins would be carried representing the civilian casualties in Afghanistan.

Let me establish Choudary's background. He is 43 years old, born in Welling, England. He was a medical student at Southampton University, but switched to commercial law. On graduation he became a solicitor and then chairman of the Society of Muslim Lawyers. He later met Omar Bakri Muhammad, the 'Tottenham Ayotollah' who has subsequently been banned from the UK. They formed the Islamist organisation al-Muhajiroun, which has also been banned by the British government. He then helped form Al Ghurabaa, also banned by the government. He is now the spokesman for Islam4UK. He has openly praised the terrorists involved in 9/11 and the London 7/7 bombings. He has also called for the implementation of Sharia Law throughout the UK.

In fairness to other Muslims, Choudary has received little support from the mainstream UK Muslim population. But I have to wonder why he is tolerated at all. We can't 'send him back', because he was born in the UK. Surely there are laws of incitement that can be brought to bear?

And here's the rub.

The former Mayor of Wootton Bassett although, "... appalled at the suggestion of such a march," goes on to say, "If this man has any decency about him he will not hold his march through Wootton Bassett."

The Prime Minister, Gormless Gordon, called plans for the march, "... offensive and disgusting."

The Home Secretary, Alan Johnson, said he would back any request from police or local government to ban the march.

And - wait for it - the president of the Association of Chief Police Officers, Sir Hugh Orde, a former chief constable in Northern Ireland said, "People have the right to march. Others might not like it, but that's it."

Have we gone completely MAD?

Winnie must be squirming in his grave!

So, what are my credentials for getting on my high horse? Simple, really.

• I was NOT born in the UK. I was born in India.
• I adopted the UK as my home and accepted its laws and customs as my own when I arrived as an immigrant.
• I have never wanted it to be anything different.
• I served Queen and Country for 36 years in the Royal Air Force.

It is inconceivable to me that anybody born and bred in the UK would wish for it to be anything other than British; English, Scottish, Welsh or Northern Irish by extension, but nevertheless British.

Not so very long ago I saw somebody wearing a T-shirt emblazoned with the logo "Enoch was right". I no longer wonder whether his prophesy in the "Rivers of Blood" speech could have been mere mischief-making.

Allow me to quote the line from the speech that has subsequently been used to label it:

As I look ahead, I am filled with foreboding. Like the Roman, I seem to see the River Tiber foaming with much blood.

Me too, Enoch. Me too ...

Update:

Breaking news on Sky states that the Home Secretary, Alan Johnson, has moved to ban the organisation called Islam4UK. Considering the massive backlash from the general public towards these morons, I would have expected nothing less.

It also occurs to me that his action in banning this bunch is a bit of a Pyrrhic victory. He has banned the same lot masquerading under different names before, and as sure as Allah made little apples, they will re-emerge under some other equally despicable guise.

Ah, well ...

Now that I've lured you here with a blatantly misleading title I have to 'fess-up' that I am taking this opportunity to ostracize this fixation on trees!

There must be a multitude of aberrations that are much healthier to obsess about, and I shall make it my crusade to go away and focus on a few, after this post.

Since the phone-cam was apparently doing a good job I decided to continue making an effort to capture things I had already vaguely planned to use for a post. And it is an effort. Phone-cam in one hand trying to manipulate buttons that are microscopic, electric boxer on lead tugging me 'every-which-way-but-loose' in the other!

David, here's the gauntlet thrown down; come collect my boxer and then see how well you can compose 'raw' shots without resorting to Photoshop! Rant over.

I mused about the microcosm of life I can always find within the small patch of green that I visit daily. A line of trees along the cemetary wall gives sustenance to a variety of feathered friends. Pigeons are by far the most numerous, but there are colonies of 'escaped' parrots, the ubiquitous sparrows and even a few doves. The birds feed happily off the fruits, berries and insects that the trees serve up. And a right royal feast it is, too.

At ground level, in the underbrush, the killing fields, live the killers, the feral cats! They sit and wait patiently for unwary pigeons to wander into their kill zone (the other bird species are far too intelligent), and then it is a matter of 'pounce' and 'off with its head'. I've observed feathered remains almost daily, but have only ever witnessed one kill. And I have to tell you that, unlike domestic cats that appear to 'play' with their prey, feral's don't waste too much energy. Their kills are swift and deadly, and even though I cannot say it is nice to observe, I can understand how their need to do it is rooted deeply in their instinct for survival. More so when they have a family of cute little kittens to raise.

I thort I thaw a puddy-tat!

So, it is a matter of keeping one's eyes peeled. The dog knows they're there because he can scent them, but I have to spot them earlier than he does so that I can issue my "Straight On!" command. Or I end up being dragged unceremoniously into the bushes!

As I mentioned earlier, this is a microcosym of life being played out daily on a very tiny stage. The trees feed the birds, the birds feed the cats, and the dog and I, at the top of food chain, conspire to make life difficult for all of them. I guess that is the way of the world.

On a different tack. This is a little extra for 'townies'; the 'country-cousins' are already familiar with this phenomenon.

During my 'fieldcraft' training in the military, one of the lessons taught was how to navigate terrain without the aid of a compass. Not as easy as you'd think. Unless you are American! It has never ceased to amaze me how my American colleagues in the military were always able to locate NORTH without even breaking sweat. Conversely, they found it difficult to get from point 'A' to point 'B' driving a car on European roads because of the hairpins, switchbacks and roundabouts they encountered. A symptom of familiarity with how their towns and cities are built on a grid pattern.

But they could always tell you which way was North!

Well, here is a bit of information that will always help you, even in the deepest, darkest forests of your mind. And even in town if you are unfamiliar with the locale. Look for the moss on the trees, and the side that displays the thickest layer is the side that is pointing NORTH.

North to Alaska!

For the sceptical amongst my readers, I regret I didn't have a compass with me when I took that shot so that I could have shown the compass needle pointing to the big red 'N'. You will simply have to take my word for it.

Helpful information, or what ... ?