Do we veggies deserve a 'holier-than-thou' reputation?.

 

This post was inspired after reading my blog-pal JayGee's ('Going Gently') own recent posting of some calves mourning the (permanent) absence of their mothers, though he does not, as I do here, cover the topic of vegetarianism:-

https://disasterfilm.blogspot.com/2023/04/cries-for-mom.html

One of my most vivid childhood memories is when I was maybe ten or so, out with two of my brothers plus one or two of their friends (I'd never had any friends of my own up to that age, and actually till later still). We happened to be walking by an abattoir at the same time as a herd of cattle was being ushered out of a truck and into the building. I can still recall the animal's faces mooing pitifully, they obviously (one assumes) being completely unaware of the grizzly fate which was immediately ahead of them. I see them even now. Feeling profound horror for the animals myself, I'd heard about abattoirs but had never thought any deeper about it. I think this experience may have been the seed which was, a very few years later, to turn me away from meat-eating for the rest of my life (other than some minor, isolated lapses).

The heading to this post is not something I've ever heard expressed so starkly as I do, but it's an attitude I regularly pick up when reading - or hearing - 'between the lines'. I may be mistaken but it could well be the way I would feel myself were I a meat-eater. 

When I've found myself with a group in a restaurant (in the past, usually a works gathering) and it came to ordering one's meal, sometimes I'd be asked "How long have you been vegetarian?" or, a trifle more insidiously, "Why are you.......?" I can hear the curiosity, which is fair enough, but I also detect a burgeoning unspoken irritation on the speaker's part. When the question comes, which I dread, most especially in an eating establishment, I have to bluster about the subject, trying to avoid it directly yet closing it down, at least until in a less inappropriate location.   

The fact is that my awareness of an animal having had its entire life sacrificed, probably in some horrific and painful way, in order to give me (plus a few others) a few minutes of pleasure is always hovering so real in my consciousness that I could never truly enjoy the experience of eating it. Added to which is a secondary reason, viz the realisation that eating animals is not, by and large, essential to my survival. (I'll expand on qualifications to this shortly).

   

So, how do I feel about those who, though being aware of my arguments, nevertheless choose to eat meat? (I include fish and seafood generally in the word). Well, I have to confess that I do wish there were more vegetarians in the world - or, better still, vegans. But as far as I know I have never attempted to 'convert' any carnivores out of their practice. That is for them to decide, though I'm pretty  sure that many of the latter feel that we'd jump at any chance to preach our philosophy, and which, I've no doubt some do. However, I reckon such a ploy is largely counter-productive, only succeeding in getting the backs up of their target audience, a reaction which I can fully understand.  

Our 'goody-goody' reputation, if it does exist, stems not just from a dislike at seeing animals suffer needlessly, but a general wish of wanting the survival of beings vulnerable to man's endless whim to end creatures' lives, sensate beings who often have such pathetically short natural existences anyway, protected and, indeed, respected. 

Although I am emphatically not religious in any way, in early posts of mine I've mentioned my reading a Biblical passage most days (i.e. at least 95% of days) for now getting on for 60 years - as well as a daily passage from the Koran (in at least 5 different translations) - in addition to the Hindu Bhagavad-Gita and also various Buddhist texts. What is striking about the Koran, as far as I can make out, is that it's totally devoid of expressing any affection for non-human beings. I think I'm right in saying that Islamic countries have next to nothing regarding the legal protection of animals. As such I would never want to visit such countries where, even a chance visit to a market would be bound to reveal a tethered sheep, goat etc waiting to be sold and used to slaughter for Halal meat, doubtlessly often inexpertly done with an entire family spectating the horrific act. Observing such a creature destined for such a hideous end would ruin the rest of my stay in that country - and would remain in my mind for still longer. 

The Bible's New Testament, at least, mentions in Jesus' parables, the value of sheep, though that is really only as a commodity, a means of income for the shepherd/farmer. In the Old Book there are, it is true, a very few odd verses in Genesis and Proverbs which speak of the mistreatment of animals as being cruel, though such is not an oft-recurring theme in the volumes - and the Bible is particularly down on dogs.   

India, because of its wide acceptance of Hinduism has strict laws against the mistreatment of cattle though, as far as I know, little else for other animals. Buddhism is, as far as I know, the sole major religion which recognises the value of all life - including plants - though not necessarily all on a parity. What I find most difficult to cope with is its doctrine of standing back and dispassionately observing life ('awareness') in detached manner without recognising an absolute necessity of intervening to alleviate suffering in another being where it's possible - or maybe I haven't fully comprehended the guidance/doctrine.

I'd ideally like to become a fully-observant vegan, and for at least a decade I've strived in that direction. I'd describe myself as more than 90% there now. (Milk now has to be exclusively non-dairy - for me preferably oat- or cashew-milk). However there are two or three areas where I haven't made it, a major one being that I just haven't been able to acclimatise myself to vegetarian cheese though I have tried and tried. I find there a bland same-ness, even between varieties which try to mimic dairy cheese 'flavours', almost unpalatable, though I'm sure they'll get better in time. All my life I've been quite an avid cheese fan though have now certainly well reduced my intake of dairy cheese. In my fridge at the moment is a portion of French Brie as well as a some Philadelphia cream cheese spread. Also I'm quite partial to Cheddar, Red Leicester, Double Gloucester as well as a number of Dutch and French cheeses, though without going totally overboard for any of them.   

Additionally, for common-sense health reasons, especially for someone of my age, I take daily cod liver oil tablets to postpone the onset of getting painful joints (even though, regarding fishing, I cannot bear to see it taking place - to witness a fish being hauled up out of its natural habitat and suffocate in the air I just cannot watch). Also, acknowledging that being vegetarian means going without certain essential vitamins, I take daily B12 tablets to compensate for what plant-based foods cannot provide - as well as, incidentally (odourless) garlic tablets, an ingredient well beloved of many but which I myself cannot tolerate in food, including just its smell, though appreciating that it's especially beneficial towards a healthy heart. .

When I mention my exceptions to true veggie-ism, so many times the person I'm explaining to will gleefully pounce on my admissions as if it punches a hole in my definition of being veggie, even going so far as if it invalidates all aspirations to achieve my ideal and, on at least one occasion, calling me out as a hypocrite! But being not totally consistent is merely one aspect of human nature. If I say I don't have a great affection for Mozart's music, yet absolutely adore around a dozen of his piano concertos, does that make me a liar? Enough said?

Looking this post over it reads more heavily serious than I'd intended - as well as being longer - but we'll let it stand. I've said more on this subject than I've ever said to anyone up to now, though hoping it hasn't bored the pants off you. And I still don't know the answer to my question at top. Perhaps someone can respond with a suggestion..........?

 

My cold, wordless exchange with Lily Savage (Paul O'Grady R.I.P.)

 

It will have been early 1988 when the campaign was at its height to prevent an obnoxious Bill becoming law, which was to make it a criminal offence for a local authority (read 'teachers') to promote homosexuality. Our side's 'anti' campaign itself was unsuccessful as the then Mrs Thatcher's government managed to get her Bill through Parliament in the Summer of that year where it remained for a further 17 years until Tony Blair's Labour government got it rescinded without too much trouble. In fact throughout that law's active life not one single prosecution under it had been made, not helped by no one agreeing on exactly what 'promotion of....' actually meant. (All this, of course, was while AIDS was ravaging the country, knocking gay men over like skittles - a gleeful gift to the gay-hating bigots). But much of the energy of our side's anti-law campaign was on the lines of 'if this gets through, what comes next?' - the answer to which, if not worded as the British law was, can depressingly be seen happening right now in the U.S.A. 

As part of the 'anti' campaign there were a number of events in support of that side, including theatrical charity dos. In London there were two such which I attended, possibly the biggest one being in one of that city's largest West End theatres, the 1,200 seater Piccadilly theatre, with a large number of stars, including internationals, making a brief 5-minute appearance to make their support known. I can't list all the names now, the long tally-call being quite breath-taking, though I'll still have the programme somewhere - but I do remember Dame Edna Everidge, Vanessa Redgrave, Alan Bates, Alan Bennett, Harold Pinter (and, I think, Tom Stoppard), Simon Rattle with his then wife, the cast of 'EastEnders' and 'Les Mis', Gary Oldman and Sheila Hancock did the seduction scene from Joe Orton's 'Entertaining Mr Sloane'.....and, making their very first live performance ever, the Pet Shop Boys who performed, highly appropriately, 'It's a Sin' (and, I think, 'Always on My Mind').......plus Lily Savage, who was yet to become a national figure though by then very well known on the gay scene. I'd seen her before and, frankly, hadn't cared for her, she striking me as relentlessly bitter and humourless, unless you thought that hurling 'f' and 'c' words with no wit at various celebrities and politicians, was side-splittingly funny which some, indeed, did. I thought his material was all too shallow. Anyway, he did his predictable routine leaving me duly unimpressed. Then after this show I had booked to go straight to another similar event at one of London smaller theatres, half the size of the Piccadilly, with another cast list of more big names but mainly those from the gay circuits. And once again Lily Savage was on that programme too. She came on, same dress as before, and did the very same act which I'd just seen. I was sitting in an end seat on about the third row from the stage, quite conspicuously placed as it was jutting out into a side aisle. In the middle of her piece she suddenly stopped and looked directly at me, probably noticing because I was sitting there, rigid, unsmiling and rather bored despite her best efforts - and it was a looooong, silent, icy, 'if-looks-could-kill' glare. The audience hushed, and I could sense them starting to look for what had caught her attention though I didn't dare to glance around myself. I could have put an end to the dreadful moment there and then by just giving a smile and a thumbs-up, allowing her a sense of relief, but I was frozen into immobility, face and all. Then, after what seemed an eternity, with blood rushing to my cheeks, she looked away. I was certain she must say something, but she didn't. She just carried on with her venomous spiel. She'd have forgotten the moment with me two minutes later, and compared with the vicious heckling she must have got in her early career up to then, it would have been nothing. Yet here am I, over 30 years later, still recalling and cringeing at the memory of that moment of 'nothingness'!

By the time Paul O'Grady died unexpectedly in his sleep the day before yesterday at the age of just 67 (nine years younger than I am now. Eek!) he'd been accorded the now rather over-used accolade of 'national treasure' which is probably fair. He'd ditched the Lily Savage persona for good about 15 years ago and has been appearing on national television since the mid-90s, though in latter years only as his true self, a warm, genial host - a side of him with qualities which Lily Savage's character was devoid and I hadn't been aware of. He was a popular chat-show host, as well as for game shows, though he did also do the occasional theatre appearances, such as the child-catcher in 'Chitty' at the London Palladium - and he was when he died, appearing in Edinburgh as Miss Hannigan on a national tour production of 'Annie', which would actually next week have been in Southampton, just 50 miles along the south coast from where I am. 

Paul became particularly well-known for his concern for animals - for which he gets a huge plus from me! - and, in particular, for rescued dogs, the subject of a popular regular TV programme. He leaves behind a husband (rather good-looking, I must say) as well as a daughter from a previous marriage. 

Everyone's parting is sad, and it seems my briefest of briefs 'interaction' with him, if one can even call it that, did not do justice to the man. 

R.I.P., Sir!

The 'N - word' before it became the ultimate unmentionable.

 

The idea of using this subject for a post comes about through very recent news that some of Agatha Christie's novels (as well as some of Roald Dahl's) are being altered so as to have terms which are now considered to be 'racially insensitive' either altered or completely removed for future published editions. I am not going to argue here whether such changes are or aren't justified.

Those of my generation and older will recall the time when this word was in almost everyday use by many, including friends and even relatives, with hardly an eyebrow raised in disapproving reaction. It must have been in the 1970s when, at least in England, it became 'dubious' until, following the example of the U.S.A., it became (probably in the 1980s) unacceptable virtually everywhere, especially in a social context - though it was , and I believe still is, used by (racist) comedians in the relative seclusion of private clubs. I recall it being used on TV 'comedy' shows still well into the 70s - this was a time when one of the most popular shows here was the weekly 'Black and White Minstrel Show', all the male singers and dancers having blacked-up faces, all the females without the black make-up but in alluring, revealing dresses as also their dancers, some in almost bikini-like costumes so as to give show to much exposed, exclusively white, female flesh which, it was assumed, that audiences liked to see.  

When my family first got a television, around 1958 - before colour of course - one of the very first films we watched together was the Agatha Christie thriller advertised above - which, with its unexpected, breath-taking resolution, made a deep and highly favourable impression on me. Christie herself had used the 'N-word' when transferring her novel, originally called 'Ten Little Indians', into a stage play. 'Ten Little Soldiers' had also briefly been employed. Incidentally, when I saw the play on stage about 30 years ago (though knowing the big 'reveal' of the plot rather blunts the experience) even 'Indians' had become 'Travellers' - which itself, with its uncloaked suggestion of gypsies, has now also become a clear no-no.  And the play's title, like the 1974 re-make film - and with, indeed, Christie's own approval which she had also herself previously used - had by then become the entirely innocuous 'And Then There Were None'. 

I hadn't heard of Lenny Bruce when I saw the 1974 Dustin Hoffman / Bob Fosse film, which I liked a lot - and moved me to find out more about the man. (Oh, how I'd liked to have seen him reacting, assuming his political and social stances had remained unchanged, to our present Trump-world!) In the film 'Lenny' he masterfully illustrates how the sting can be drawn from the word 'nigger' by using it regularly and non-judgmentally - a lesson which is, arguably, still valid today. However, I think there's not enough recognition that within the 'family' of non-white people, the word can be used as a term of friendliness or even affection - as much as the word 'queer' can, and is also used in a non-pejorative sense between gay, (usually) men. But that does not give authority to those outside those particular worlds to use the words as a put-down, something which is obviously not so when used by one member of such set towards another, as like an informal form of address. There is no sense here of one individual claiming a superiority over another in these cases. 

I began primary school in 1952. In my family I have always been the darkest one - as well as the tallest, though that is 'only' 6 feet. Being born in India (of mainly European 'stock') was enough to additionally mark me out as someone 'different'. Some years back my younger brother had one of those ancestry tests done, which showed, unsurprisingly to us, a significant Iberian strain - my father claimed to be half-Portuguese, so hence is my surname, slightly altered from its original - as well as some Scandinavian - my paternal grandfather's 'other half' being Danish. But there was also some [I think 18%] Asian, which may have come from my mother's side, though she, as English, wasn't aware of - or didn't want to say? -  where that originated from. At primary school, and it's hardly credible now, among 600 infant and junior pupils, I was the sole one who was most visibly not white, moreso than any of my three brothers. So I was an obvious target for the 'n' word, though, must say, not frequently, just now and again, and more often than not, abbreviated to 'nig' - and by boys (it was always only boys) from classes other than my own who didn't know me. Of course, being called 'nig' or the full word hurt, as it was meant to, though it didn't obsess me unduly. I just thought of it as being part of the world. As far as I know, my brothers had not suffered the same indignities that I did, though their complexions were a shade, or even two, lighter than mine was. When I started grammar school at 11, I found once again that I was the darkest out of another 600 boys (a boys-only school), that is until a young guy with coal-black skin joined some years later, and who, I noted, after riding out silently all the laughing and ribbing behind his back - sometimes even to his face - he quickly became hugely popular, gaining a retinue of devoted fans who followed him around and chatting with him at recreation time, something I'd never experienced myself. I felt so happy for him, though wasn't brave enough to tell him so.

Anyway, going back to 'Ten Little Niggers', at my first school, there was an annual event where pupils from all years were chosen by their teachers to take part in a series of performances before the whole school in the assembly hall. It was a Roman Catholic school whose headmistress was a nun, as also was her deputy/final-year teacher. All the other teachers were lay women and two men, all also R.C. of course. This particular year when I'd have been 7 or 8, the year above me had been given the task to act-out the then relatively well-known children's song 'Ten Little Niggers' (from which Christie got her book title, though which is never heard nowadays) on the assembly hall stage, with ten chosen boys given blacked-up faces (shoe polish?) - as well as big curtain-ring sized earrings(!) plus some garishly coloured scarf. Then they'd be made to pop up to being visible one by one from behind a low lateral screen to illustrate the song's story, with the respective, varied (humorous) demises - I remember one being caught by a shark, another being poisoned with a cake - all while the whole school, including teachers and nuns, along with a couple of priests as guests from the adjoining church, singing along merrily and heartily the chorus line of - "One little, Two little, Three little, Four little, Five little NIGGER boys" the chorus being repeated as each boy 'died' thus reducing the number 'survivors' - so at least TEN times altogether!.......all the while leaving me inwardly squirming as I watched the wretched, demeaning spectacle from a tightly-packed bench. I don't remember if I made some show of pretending to sing along.

Ah, such were the times! Better now? Well maybe - or.....?

 

Annual Doggie Extravaganza - Crufts Best in Show 2023

The winner - and 'Best in Show' is.........ORCA!

 And runner-up or  'Reserve Best in Show' is........Blondie

Finishing last night, I watch this event every year as religiously as I do the 'Eurovision Song Contest' and can't think why I've not till now done a blog on it, especially considering there are so many avid dog-lovers in blogland, several of whom I'm delighted to be following. 

Crufts, held every year in Birmingham, claims to be the world's best dog show. Whether it is or not it's certainly the biggest, with multiple thousands of entries from all over the globe, providing four days of quality 'entertainment' in competitions, obstacle courses, tricks, skills, obeying commands, grooming etc.......all of course, presided over by expert veterinary supervisors.

I can't claim to be particularly knowledgeable about dogs (nor cats, for that matter) other than liking them hugely, their honest, uncomplicated emotional responses being the main source of their endearment for me. All on the surface, nothing hidden. But I know very little regarding dog breeds (so many of them, and such variety!) and the niceties of interpreting their doggie language. 

I've never been a dog-owner myself, except when as part of the family we owned one between my ages of around 10-18 - and though all my members of my family were animal-lovers to varying extents it was I who was foremost and closest to 'Candy'. Now, with three cats to care for and coddle (it was they who chose me to leave their homes for and move in here!) and at my advanced age, acquiring a dog, or even another cat, is really out of the question, sadly.

So here are some misc pics from the last few days:-

Incidentally, I would urge anyone who hasn't seen the Christopher Guest film 'Best in Show' (2000) to take a look. Totally hilarious, with nearly all the humour coming from or directed at the dog-owners rather than the animals. It's one off my all-time favourites and easily one of the funniest films I have ever seen.

Now, to end with, here's last year's champion, and what a fine specimen of the breed he is, you'll agree! And just look at the winning dog he owns too!

Mo Salah, Liverpool F.C. footballer - gets ALL my attention.

 

It's not a sexual thing - I mean he's 46 years younger than I am - but, goodness me, there's nobody at all in today's sports-world who, appearance-wise, comes anywhere near to ticking my boxes so completely, and he's done so ever since appearing on my radar when he started playing for Liverpool six years ago, and has always been one of their most prominent 'star' players and regular goal-scorer  - while also remaining part of Egypt's national team. I know he's been married for 10 years and has two daughters, but even so, when I see his team playing I'm sitting utterly transfixed, awaiting a view of him, any view, to slaver at excitedly (okay, so maybe it is sexual to some extent). But such a beautiful man I haven't seen in many years - the epitome of 'stunning'!

I'm not aware of any gay fan club with him specifically in mind, so maybe it's just me, but I can live with that - though I do hope he doesn't shave off his beard for some time yet.

Drool, drool, droooooooollll!!

Vulpine visitor.

 

My flat is on the other side of the road from a large-ish park where, as I've known for years, a 'family' or more of urban foxes live. Over time, when I've got out of bed in the early hours, I've very occasionally seen one in the back gardens scavenging for food. Even with the odd cat around outside, including my own, they ignore or just accept one another, though cats seem the more wary and somewhat fascinated, without the overt hostility or fear they'd exhibit against dogs. 

A few nights ago I found the food which I always leave out overnight for my own furry threesome not only eaten up entirely and the milk-bowl licked dry, but also my indoor rubbish bag, prior to putting in bin outside, had been ransacked, with tea bags, avocado skins, cat left-overs etc littering the kitchen floor. (I leave the kitchen window open for the cats with a small gap for them to go in and out at will on their nocturnal prowlings). I didn't give the incident much thought then and there, thinking another cat had been the culprit. However, on the following evening, sitting watching telly with one cat on my lap and another nearby, they both became unsettled and got up to peer down the hallway above the stairs. I rose to look and there, disappearing through the kitchen window was the brush of a fox tail - and evidence of ransacking once again. It was clear that at least one of them had got bolder. 

Searching the internet for a fox-repellent, they all appeared expensive and more geared to gardens or farms rather than domestic 'invaders'. But it seems that scents which foxes actively dislike include garlic (I'm with the fox there!) and chillies, so I bought some of both and, as instructed, crushed some of them in a bowl and added boiling water, which I've left on the kitchen window ledge for the last three nights. Seems to have worked. But only this morning, at 5 a.m. and temps well below freezing, looking out with a torch, there on the wall, watching me dolefully was a fox, with a pleading look which said 'Please give me some food!' I felt so incredibly sorry for the poor creature, it was heart-breaking. But didn't dare to respond as I wanted to, knowing that if I did it would only return again and again - and then acquiring a dreadful reputation as a fox-feeder and attractor from all the neighbours and beyond - and, to top it all, the lovely young couple neighbours under me (he a doctor, she a former nurse - could be extremely useful!) have an 8-month old baby!

So, as at right now I'm hoping that I don't see the vulpine visitor again, though I'm sure I will. And what if it gets brave or desperate enough to push in past the stinking concoction I leave on the window ledge? What can I do? Oh, the heartache! It hurts so! 😟

And yet a further milestone reached - they just keep coming!

 

Yes, today (15th) is my 'Trombones Day' - "With a capital 'T' and that rhymes with 'B' and that stands for........" - Birthday! 

For those who've been enquiring after my well-being during recent months - something for which I'm eternally grateful and very touched indeed - overall, my health continues fine, all thing considered. As I often say, it's far better than a lot of folk of my advanced age (and yet older) have, if they have even ever reached it, which now just about all of my one-time small handful of friends failed to do. 

Previous eye difficulties are more or less gone now. Sight in both eyes is very good in one and quite acceptable in the other. Not needing spectacles at all, with contact lenses, after 50 years wear, also now being firmly relegated to the past. Lingering slight regret that there remains a discernible disparity between both eyes' visions but I appreciate how lucky I am having come through the sometimes dramatic difficulties with the result I have. So I've positively no complaints! 

Couple of months ago I managed to resume reading again, both newspapers and books - and to prove to myself that I can, a week ago started re-reading that readers' Everest, (or should we now be calling it 'Sagarmatha'?) of 'War and Peace', my ninth (and possibly last?) 'ascent' of it - and in a fifth translation. (Very curiously, this 'Penguin Popular Classics' edition, which I picked up for £1 some years back, doesn't give this particular translator's name, and which my Internet search has also failed to uncover. Most odd.) But it's a great relief to get back to what has been for me, viz. reading generally, one of the greatest pleasures in all my life since infancy.

I must poignantly mention in passing that today would also have been the b/day of Arteejee (RTG), hubby of our late, dear Anne-Marie of Philly - both much missed, and will continue to be so.

Now it's disappointing that I can't show, as I always have done for every birthday, up-to-date photos of myself and my three furry flat-mates. Yesterday I took what I thought were good photos on my digital camera, but when I came to try to upload them onto this p.c. it seems that things have moved on and the old procedure doesn't work as before. The simplest way is now via a smartphone, which I still don't have, and to do it with a digital camera requires me to follow instructions which I just can't understand. Terms are used which are gobbledygook to me. So, until I can find some way to achieve it, unfortunately at present there are no new photos are to be seen. 

So, until the next time something happens in my life which deserves blogging about, I wish well to any remaining followers and readers of my sparse and rare posts.   

Very best wishes to y'all!