I am not sure whether I should take Adams' latest column as a delayed April Fools joke or whether he is writing something "serious":
Horses can make the difference in the war on the weather, too. I write these words from a home surrounded by horses and horse-studs owned by sheiks from the Emirates and Gerry Harveys, by Filipino billionaires and John Singletons...Trade in diesel-guzzling tractors for Clydesdales. Garage the buses and get the local kids to do what their parents did – ride horses to school...Then reintroduce horses to the cities – not only as posh pastimes for the wealthy in Centennial Park but for taxis, pizza deliveries and funerals.
It may surprise this neighbour to billionaires that parents of teenage kids walked or took public transport to school. As for me, like my parents before me, I walked and took public transport. Mummy did not have a Land Rover in the garage.
If this is an attempt to be satirical a la Tim Blair, Adams has failed miserably. Possibly because his piece is humourless:
I RECENTLY announced changing my name to Chlorophillip, a rechristening intended to emphasise my personal crusade on greenhouse gases...Still dripping from my second encounter with the baptismal font, I revealed breakthrough technology to tackle climate change concerns...But I’ve decided that making greenhouse gases green is not quite enough. So I’m changing my name back to Phillip, which is, appropriately, Greek for “lover of horses”.
Call this the Traceeee Nation effect. Or maybe my mirth was suppressed by his attempt to slime the police force:
Our police are ready – they’ve been using horses to trample protesters since Federation.
If I were to hazard a guess, I would say that police horses only manage to trample the St. Pancakes of this world.