Animals, my dog and heat

Essentially, I love dogs and hate heat. I like most animals but dogs and horses are my favourites. My dog is a golden cocker spaniel and she's almost five years old; I've had her since she was nine weeks old. I love her, and here I'm not using the word love in a flippant way, such as when we say I love fruit. No, when I say I love her, that is exactly what I mean.

I don't however, do that ridiculous thing some people do with their pets, in that they treat them like humans and dress them up. Nor do I allow Duffy (good name?) to sleep on my bed. With animals and dogs in particular, you can't do whatever you like and think they will adapt easily. It's necessary to lay down the ground rules early and stick to them so that the the pet feels safe and secure.

It's my belief that the way in which a society treats its animals is a reliable measure as to how compassionate that society is. If I were the one to decide I would ban halal and kosher meat.  For this meat  to qualify as halal for Muslim people or kosher, for Jewish people, it is undeniable that the animals are killed inhumanely. I just find it hard to understand what kind of a God could want this. Why would a good God want the animals that, according to religion, he had created, to be killed in such a cruel way? No deity that I know of, that's for sure. I should perhaps confess (to use a suitably religious word) that I am an atheist. Truth to tell, when I say or write that confession of atheism, I always feel a little anxious, just in case I've got it wrong...

And now to heat. Everyone says, when it's warm and sunny, 'Isn't it lovely today?' Everyone agrees.'Oh yes, it is. I hope it carries on.' What I always wonder is, do they actually mean what they say? I agree myself when it's sunny and hot and someone says that it's lovely. I agree because it would be odd and possibly rude too, to say you don't like it. Imagine. 'No I don't think it is lovely. I prefer biting winds, rain and cold.Snow preferably.' That would be my honest answer. Heat, especially humidity, makes me feel irritable, lethargic and generally unhappy. I like the sun, but I like it when it makes the frost on the grass and the pavements glisten.I like the sun in a clear blue sky when the temperature is below freezing. There must be more people who prefer the cold to the heat. Mustn't there?  

   

Anorexic in Asda

This afternoon in Asda, I found myself on the confectionery aisle, which I usually try to avoid. I say I found myself there because often I go into a sort of trance in a supermarket and wheel the trolley aimlessly and obliviously. Looking at people and watching their behaviour is what I do and in particular I watch people with their children. Generally speaking, the younger the parents the more the child is yelled at. Today a child was told to 'Get 'ere now' or she would be shoved in a  fridge. She was then told that she was a 'little shit'.

Back to the confectionery aisle. Standing very close, so close that she couldn't have got any closer,  was a painfully thin woman, examining the bags of boiled sweets. She was quite tall, had excellent posture but was so, so skinny. She was wearing a striped jumper and a pair of white trousers which would easily have catered for three more people her size. Her hair was long and white and though I could only see her face in profile, it seemed as if the paper-thin skin was about to tear over the hollow cheekbone, on the side I could see. She looked middle-aged, but it's very often the case with anorexics that they look older than they appear to be. I'd have put this woman at about forty-eight, but she might well have been twenty-eight.
On first seeing her,  I was almost rooted to the spot, until I realised how odd my own behaviour was. So, I feigned great interest in a range of boiled sweets, positioning myself so that I could watch her unseen. This woman was picking up various bags of sweets and staring at them intensely. She was holding the packets in both skeletal hands, lifting them closer to her eyes and turning the bags over and over. She was completely focused on each bag of sweets that she picked up. I saw her isolate a single sweet by deft finger movements, find the clearest, most transparent part of the bag and manoeuvre the sweet to that area and stare at it some more. Her concentration was complete, absolute and compelling. I must have been watching her for a good five minutes.

Would she buy any of these sweets? She had a basket on the floor by her feet and of course I had a good look. There were tomatoes, a cucumber, some apples and a newspaper in the wire basket.

All of a sudden, she flung the bag currently under forensic examination back on the shelf, picked up the wire basket and headed off at quite a pace. My mind was crammed with questions.  Who was she?Who did she live with? Did she have family who cared about her? I hope that the answer to the last question was yes. I also hoped she was receiving the help that she so clearly and so desperately needed.

Standing in the queue at the check-out I was wondering what had brought her to this point in her life. My head was so full of her that I barely remember paying. Back in the car park, I realised that I had forgotten to buy the coffee that I had gone in for in the first place.      



     

Made in Chelsea

Recently I have had the dubious pleasure of watching Made in Chelsea. It's on E4 at 10 pm every Monday. Usually I will have just finished writing the double episode review for Coronation Street and will have just posted it in time to watch Made in Chelsea.

Alarmingly, this programme has become my guilty pleasure and I watch each episode at least twice. I'm
trying to work out what its fascination is for me. To some degree I think I understand its power and appeal and there's nothing surprising in the revelation that it is always interesting to gain an insight into other people's lives. Though it has to be the case that to a significant extent the show is contrived, it seems that what the cast do is, again to some extent, natural. The way they speak and interact seems to be unplanned and largely unscripted.

BUT, though these young people are in their early, mid or even late twenties, they are hardly ever seen working, going to work, talking about work or having anything to do with work. They always seem free  to go off on holiday at the drop of a hat too. They decide one day and the next, off they go! So, obviously, this begs the question, where do they get their money from? The most likely source of their income is the bank of mum and dad. Of course, viewers may be infuriated by their apparent good luck, their privileged existence, their good fortune to live in London and frequent expensive and glamorous bars, clubs and restaurants, but I wonder if these apparently fortunate people ever think that it might be an idea to try to stand on their own two feet.