I firmly believe that animals deserve our respect. There can be few things more beautiful than watching wildlife in it’s natural environment: think of, say, an elephant gracefully crossing the plains of east Africa, or a shoal of fish in the sea. All part of the majesty of nature and the network of life on earth. Yet inherent to that majesty is the connection between an animal and it’s environment: all animals evolve, after all, to suit their environment. Take an animal out of it’s environment and you create something artificial, fake. That’s why I object so strongly to so-called dog lovers treating their pets like human infants: a dog should be respected as a dog, not anthropomorphised in the pretence that it is something it’s not.
I just finished binge-watching Joe Exotic, Tiger King on Netflix. It is car crash tv of the worst kind, but it’s so addictive that I watched the entire series in two days. Centred around people who own small zoos in the American south, it is shockingly fucked up: the way these people treat one another, behaving like petulant children armed with guns, is disturbing. My chin was on the floor in bewilderment half the time, and I defy anyone to watch it and not wonder how a nation with such deranged psychopaths could become the most powerful country on earth.
Most sickening of all, perhaps, was the way these egotistical nutcases treated the animals they owned. They claimed to love them, but it’s very obvious they just used them as tourist attractions with which to make fortunes. I particularly disliked the way they encouraged visitors to take their photo with infant tigers, emphasising how apparently cute the animal looks. Yet animals aren’t supposed to be cute: in this case, tigers are supposed to be vicious predators from Africa and Asia. It made me sad to see so many animals taken out of their natural habitat and used to boost the egos of these fools; yet surely it’s just an aspect of a type of culture which uses and exploits animals as emotional crutches. Be it dogs, cats, tigers or chimps, people seem to project their emotions onto animals, using them as toys or tools for their own edification, rather than respecting them as the beautiful examples of evolution that they are.
Everything may be shut, the streets may be empty, but at last it seems we will get to watch the 2012 Opening Ceremony again this summer. Believe it or not, reading that earlier cheered me up, if ever so slightly, although you know things are getting dire when the beeb resort to airing repeats of sports events from eight years ago.
Rolling up to my local Tesco the other day, I noticed they had taped lines on the pavement outside, for people to stand behind queuing to go in. A security guy was at the door, allowing customers in one at a time. Naturally I headed to the end of the queue, preparing to wait for my turn. Not me, though: to my surprise, the security guy beckoned to me (and Serkan), allowing us straight in. This amused me – it seems there are advantages to being a ‘vulnerable adult’, although part of me would rather have waited for my turn like any other member of the community.
It appears that my attempt to make music a few days ago had more of an effect than I thought it would. I am currently over the moon, as look what I just found on Charlie’s facebook page. Apparently inspired by my effort (I asked C), it’s a joy to watch one of my favourite songs sung by some of my favourite people (ie most of the Jones family). Just how awesome is that? Now I’m wondering whether this could become a trend.
Earlier I came across some nonse trying to usurp the spirit of Thursday’s applause to try to get everyone to have a similar clap for Boris Johnson on Sunday night. Needless to say I was unimpressed by the idea – why should we applaud a scumbag whose party has gradually cut NHS funding over the last ten years? – and it seems the internet was equally quick to react.
”No society can legitimately claim to be civilised if it denies citizens care due to lack of means.” Too me, that statement is irrefutably true, which is why at eight last night I was outside my front door bashing a biscuit tin with a pair of scissors. The National Health Service is one of the greatest things about the United Kingdom; knowing that if I fall ill I will be cared for, regardless of how much money I have or whether I have insurance must surely be one of the greatest comforts anyone can want. This is when we need the NHS the most though, which is why I’ll just direct everyone here, to the moment when our health service got the tribute it deserves.