Archive for the ‘ General ’ Category

Something Lovey-Dovey for my 50th post.

Gotcha. Yes, it’s a pair of collared doves that were sunbathing one afternoon a few weeks back. They did start to make a nest in the guttering of our roof, but probably got fed up of all the noise we make and abandoned it. That, and it was a terrible place to make a nest. Very cute to see them nestled up together, though. Enjoy.

A pair of in-love doves outside my bedroom window.

How To Be Nice and Normal (part two)

So that’s how it all started for me. It became part of my daily life and eventually seeped into other areas of it. In fact, I remember the day I became a vegetarian quite clearly. It was a nice day, and I was at home. The post arrived and my Ethical Consumer mag was in it. Leafing through it, a jumble of inserts fell out, and one from a charity called Viva! caught my eye. It had pigs on the front and inside told the story of farrowing crates. I read it and sat on the sofa thinking “I don’t think I want to eat those sausages in the fridge”. And that was it. I didn’t eat meat from that day on. My husband was a little dubious at the time as we’d both previously guffawed at vegetarianism. But very soon after I gave it up, so did he.

Again, another steep learning curve to tackle. No more sweets, some wines were clarified with bits of fish, some cheesecakes had gelatine in… It was interesting. We were also now that awkward vegetarian couple who you dreaded cooking for. And let’s not forget the age-old questions: “Do you eat fish?” and “How do you get your protein?” People joke about it, but I am always being asked about my protein requirements. Sometimes I feel like saying, “After this much time without enough protein I think I’d be dead by now.” But I don’t. Because I’m nice.

Which brings me to the point of this little exercise. How to be nice and normal. By which I mean how to live a compassionate life without wearing any hemp trousers or foregoing sanitary towels. I’m sure those cups are brilliant, but I’m just not into that. And if you’re a man reading this and you don’t know what I’m talking about, I suggest you keep it that way. For your own sake.

Now, I’m no saint. I can be horrible if I want to be and I can gossip and stir as well as the next woman. But since meeting my husband (a very compassionate man), I feel like I want to be a better person. I guess it’s catching. And doesn’t it give you that great feeling when you do something nice? Instead of going out of your way to avoid the Big Issue seller on the street, why not go and buy one? They’re actually an interesting read, and he’s really trying to make a difference in his life. Yes, it’s cliché, but you know I’m right. If there’s anyone you should avoid in the street, it’s those bloody ‘Chuggers’ that follow you into the doorway of the nearest shop:

“Ello there darlin’, how are you today?” A handsome young man in a pleather tabard moves in.

“Er.. No thanks…I’m just on my way to…” I begin hunkering down, walking quicker and removing eye contact. A forced smile is plastered on my face.

“Aw, babes, you break my heart… talkin’ of which, would you like to dona-”

At this point I run away into Boots and hide behind the lubrication aisle.

No, I do not like the Chuggers.

But I do have time for the older gentleman standing quietly outside M&S who is collecting for the donkeys. And I will buy the homeless man sat on the ground a bacon sandwich (I won’t force vegetarianism on the homeless — I know how bloody tasty bacon sarnies are) and a cup of tea. You know, I felt amazing after doing those really little things. I jumped out of an aeroplane for charity once, and I can categorically tell you that buying someone a sandwich is infinitely more fun than a tandem skydive from 11,000 feet. You know what they say: no act of kindness is ever wasted.

Another, maybe odd, thing to do is move animals out of the road (if it’s safe, of course). I often drive early in the morning and it’s like a horror scene some days. On the best days there are no dead bodies or they’re squished beyond recovery. On the worst days they are still alive, lying in their own blood in the road. On more occasions than I’d like to mention, I have stopped my car to move an animal, only to find it severely wounded, slightly maimed or just dazed. I have also seen the worst side of humans on these mornings. Now my husband tries to tell me that sometimes people don’t realise they’ve hit an animal. Yes, this is true. Only yesterday I moved a handsome young fox that had obviously run out and clipped his head on a car. Probably went unnoticed. A quick death I reckon (and hope). What I absolutely cannot understand is how people can drive over (yes, over) a live, injured animal. The image sticks in my mind and I don’t think it will ever leave me. Let me tell you a couple of stories that I hope will stir something in you, as it did with me.

On this morning I had stopped on the side of the road to move a muntjac deer. I thought he was dead, but being a large obstruction in the road, I decided to move him.  As I ran towards him, I watched in horror as the cars trundled over his body. Sickeningly, I saw him flailing around in the road. I picked him up and placed him onto the grass verge. I sat and called the RSPCA, and whilst doing so, he died next to me. I think I cried all the 25 miles to work.

A few years later I was again, driving to work when on the crest of a hill I saw some magpies fly up. A dead animal ahead, I thought. Yes. A dead rabbit? I’ll move him. I got out, rubber gloves on and began to walk over to him. Just then, a motorcyclist stopped next to me and, thinking I’d hit it, asked if I was ok. I explained that I hadn’t, what I was doing and said thanks anyway. Off he went, and I turned to the rabbit. Then I saw it. This wasn’t a rabbit. It was a leveret. I’ll never forget the moment I looked into its gorgeous eyes, because they were looking up at me. It was alive. Its entrails were hanging from its bottom and there were long circular blood trails all around it where it had tried to move out of the way. It looked at me, panting desperately. I wasn’t and never will be prepared for something like that. I didn’t know what to do. I really don’t think that I could kill something myself —  And isn’t that selfish? I looked around. There he was — the motorcyclist! For some reason, he’d stopped up the road. I frantically waved him down and he came back. I explained that it was still alive and asked if he would be able to put it out of its misery. Yes. I watched this little leveret close his eyes and then slowly open them again; he must’ve been so tired. The motorcyclist told me to turn away. And I did. I heard his heavy boot crush that beautiful little creature and then he moved him into the hedges. I thanked him and we parted ways. It was a long time until those blood trails disappeared from the road, and I think it’ll be even longer before that little leveret disappears from my memory.

So the point of those awful stories? Please don’t assume they’re always dead. I’ve picked up many more animals that have successfully recovered from the roadside — a maggoty hedgehog, a dazed pigeon and a baby rabbit (lying next to his dead mother) to name a few. If you’re prepared correctly, you can easily collect them from the roadside and drop them at a vets or have them collected by the RSPCA. Just make sure you have a box handy or you could have an escaped pigeon in the foot-well of your car, shitting all over your carpets and seats (don’t do this — it’s stupid and dangerous, obviously).

Compassion is a wonderful and terrible thing, because it makes you empathetic. And it’s empathy that keeps me awake at night sometimes. I tortured myself for weeks thinking about how much pain that leveret was in. What it must’ve thought when the magpies were pecking at it. How tired it felt. How scary the cars were as they roared past. The coldness of the tarmac on his paws. That, more than anything so far, has disturbed me. And you know, sometimes it makes me not want to stop because it might happen again. But if it’s not totally squashed into the road and it’s not too dangerous to stop, I’ll move it. It’s also a bit of respect, too, don’t you think? You wouldn’t leave your grandma out in the road to get mushed into the tarmac, so why leave that cat / deer / rabbit / pigeon / other silly animal that doesn’t know the green cross code? I know that it can’t be helped most of the time, and not all people are monsters, but it makes me sad all the same.

How are we doing so far? I haven’t depressed you too much, have I? The basics really are: don’t buy your blusher or your bleach from shitty companies. Go vegetarian. Or if not, have one veggie day a week. Chuck a hi-vis jacket, a box and some rubber gloves in your boot and go save some animals’ lives (safely, of course… Hazard lights, people!). Oh, and buy a Big Issue once in a while. Do it all, or nothing at all… This is just the way that I like to live. It’s my opinion and we all know that opinions are like arseholes. Everyone’s got one (and sometimes they stink).

A few other awesome things to do:

  • Give your stuff to charity. By the time you listed it on eBay, sold it, wrapped it and took it to the post office, you could have dumped it on the lap of some lovely volunteer and gone on your merry way. One man’s tat is another man’s soon-to-be tat. And so the world keeps turning…
  • You could be the volunteer in the charity shop, having someone’s stuff dumped in your lap. Imagine nosing through all that. All for the charidee, man. Or do a bit of cat-cuddling for Cats Protection. Yes, you can cat-cuddle. I did, and it was great.
  • If you like meat too much to give it up, then do the Meat-Free Monday thing. You could have mac’n’cheese, omelette and chips, veggie pizza… there are lots of things to choose — it’s all tasty. Supermarkets do great vegetarian foods nowadays. Except the bacon. Don’t try the bacon. And if you cannot go without your steak and chips try to buy organic meat.
  • Smile. I am a care assistant and it’s actually amazing how much difference smiling can make. I think it makes you a cheerier person inside. Smile and the world smiles with you. It’s true, ya know.
  • Say please, say thank you, say sorry and always cough into your elbow. It’s good manners, dammit. Thank you

So like I told you at the beginning — I’m a normal person from a normal background. I don’t have hairy armpits or wear toe-rings. But I want to be a nice normal person. Not the normal person that spits in the street or chucks their McDonald’s bag out the window of their car (because they couldn’t possibly leave it in the foot-well until they got home). And just to clarify: I’m nowhere near the nice person that I want to be — and I probably never will be. None of us will be. It’s impossible to be nice all of the time. I’m a person and you’re a person and we might not like each other. We might go home and bitch to our husbands about each other. But the next day, we’ll wake up and think: maybe she had a bad day / maybe she’s scared of me / maybe I’m scared of her / maybe I’m crazy and I imagined it.

In all, be nice to everyone and everything whenever you can. Please (see?).

How To Be Nice and Normal (part one)

Okay, let me start by saying I am a normal person. I was brought up in a normal street, in a normal town by my normal parents. I have a normal job and have normal interests.

I grew up in a town called Colchester in Essex, but I was born in Germany in 1988, where my father was posted in the British Army. When I was six months old, we moved back to England and my father left the army and went to work for British Rail. My mother, a night care assistant, had a keen interest in Persian cats and her and her sister bred pedigrees for a while in the 90’s. We always had at least five cats and one dog in our house. Although I don’t condone cat breeding, I believe this was how my love for animals bloomed.

My parents bought their first house when I was about three and it eventually became a home for a menagerie of animals. Although it wasn’t always perfect, it was great to have the experience of looking after so many different animals. We had cockatiels, fish, canaries, dogs, hedgehogs, cats, rabbits (to which I was allergic I later found out)  and best of all, ferrets. The first ferret we cared for was an injured little fellow who was found by the railway tracks. I’ll never forget Monty, as he was the friendliest, gentlest rescue animal I’d ever met. We kept him, along with other rescues for many years.

So, a fairly normal upbringing. I say fairly, because there came a time in my parents’ lives when they became interested in animal welfare. I think it was around the time we first heard of the link between bTB and badgers. They joined the local badger group (North East Essex Badger Group) and became very involved in sett monitoring and the like. Many times I sat in the car while my father loaded a dead badger he’d been called about into the boot. We would bring it home to measure it, weigh it and record any other information about it. I don’t remember what he did with the corpses, but I’m sure it wasn’t anything weird! We would spend hot summer days at shows and fairs, sat with two taxidermied badgers on a stall, giving out stickers to children and getting people to sign petitions. I also remember my father spending hours cutting out badger shaped mdf boards with his jigsaw and painting them. The best bit was that he would sneak out after a night shift and put them on roundabouts to raise awareness of badgers’ plight. My dad, the original Banksy.

The badgers inevitably led to other wildlife causes, and we ended up becoming members of the League Against Cruel Sports. My mother was proud of her navy LACS mug and would use it whenever we had people come over. We went out a few times with the hunt saboteurs and I distinctly remember being threatened by a very effeminate huntsman on his very large horse. A few times we went to the anti-hunt rally on Boxing Day in Maldon and one year I almost got on the news, had I not been gurning so much in front of the camera (I did get in the newspaper, though).

All this took place before I became a moody, uninterested teenager. I think it all became a bit uncool when I (being on the chubby side) was named the “Ten-tonne badger” by some boys in my class.

And so passed my awkward teenage years, my early working life and my first boyfriends. I eventually met my now husband and my interests began to change. I can’t even remember what started it, but I took to spending my mornings on Twitter. I was that person on your feed that bombards you with petitions to sign. I signed up to various animal charities and even did a skydive for Wood Green Animal Charity (which I wouldn’t recommend to anybody in their right mind. The skydive, that is.) I would receive magazine after magazine telling me of the plight of animals in circuses, zoos, abusive homes, slaughterhouses and laboratories. I began to read about the lab animals in particular. They were being experimented on for cosmetics, household cleaners, medicines, you name it, they injected or ingested it. I suppose I could see the reasoning behind medicinal experiments (not that I agreed), but mascara and detergent?

I must admit that I probably read some far out stuff about it all, but I also read some decent material, too. Most of which came from the BUAV (British Union for the Abolition of Vivisection). I liked their Cruelty Free campaign. It was simple: boycott the brands and companies that condone vivisection and choose a company that carries the ‘Leaping Bunny’ logo instead. So, I looked at every product we bought — shampoo, detergents, toilet cleaner, toothpaste, bars of soap and all of my make-up.

Boy, was I surprised at what I found. Turns out that the majority of mainstream products are really owned by about six big companies. These big companies are, according to information provided to me on the net, unscrupulous. But then, they are massive corporations. The big names I found in our cupboards belonged to Unilever, Reckitt Benckiser, Procter and Gamble, Colgate-Palmolive, Mars and L’Oreal. I had no idea, for instance, that Wall’s ice-cream belongs to Unilever. James Wellbeloved pet food belongs to Mars. Pampers nappies belong to Procter and Gamble. Even more worrying is that The Body Shop, who specifically sell their products on the premise that they aren’t tested on animals, are owned by L’Oreal, a company that does test on animals. Now sure, you could buy from The Body Shop and their products won’t have been tested on animals, but you’re then effectively giving L’Oreal your cash to spend on other products that may be. Did you know that Marmite and Dove are both owned by Unilever? I don’t much care for Marmite (I hate it, actually), but it’s funny how these huge corporations have their fingers in so many figurative and actual pies. It may or may not interest you, but I think it’s interesting when you can dig deeper and find out who belongs to who.

Anyway. One day, after much reading, I emptied my cleaning cupboard and my make-up bag and gave what could be used away. I discovered that The Co-op was a brand that was BUAV approved and had been for some years. It was very handy and we stocked up on our household and personal essentials there. It was a steep learning curve though, as we hadn’t anticipated that food items would come into the matter. All of our regular brands were now out of bounds and we didn’t even have the BUAV to help us there. It was best just to stick to own brands. We gradually found some nice companies and some big names that we could buy — Superdrug’s own branded cosmetics were all BUAV approved, as were M&S and Sainsbury’s and later on, Morrisons. The list gets bigger every day, I’m sure, and it’s quite heartening. When I first set out on this journey I felt like it couldn’t make much difference, but I believe consumer power does work. Speaking of which, I couldn’t have gotten very far without the help of a magazine called Ethical Consumer, which does just that. It gives you the knowledge you need to use your consumer power well. Based on a points system, it tells you which companies are most ethical in each field — say environmental impact or animal welfare and the like. I found it really useful and found some great companies because of it.

Returning from a very long break…

Well, stumbling upon my old friend, BunnyKind this morning, I was horrified to see my last post was in 2012. Two years!? Where have two years gone?

A lot has happened to Ben and me in the last two years; we’ve added two more felines to our collection, got married and even bought a new ironing board cover. So to start, we have two new additions to our home — Lily, who was hit by a car and lost her left rear leg, and Angel (we didn’t name her!), who is a mature lady that came from my mother’s house. We’re pretty sure that when the landlord said we could have “cats”, he probably meant two cats. Now, looking to find another house to rent with the reply “We have five cats… Yes, five.” is, as you can imagine, difficult. But, until we get kicked out, I guess we’ll have to stay put.

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The committee in their morning meeting.

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Lily. This is the friendliest she’s ever been.

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The mature lady, Angel.

 

On Saturday 5th October 2013, Ben and I exchanged wedding vows and rings and got married. It was indeed a very quick day, and I am glad that it is done and gone. Unlike most young women, I was most looking forward to the marriage bit, not the wedding bit. You know, sitting on the sofa watching Traffic Cops and wafting farts over to your husband who is sat in his pants, dying from noxious gas inhalation. I don’t thrive well on stress, and my wedding day was full of it. Trying to be in control of the day was nearly impossible, even though I had spent an entire week writing an hour-by-hour itinerary of the day. I handed copy after copy to the wedding party, of which only Ben and I looked at. I was so worried about timings and the like that after the ceremony, Ben and I dashed out of the building and into the car, forgetting that we were supposed to stop for some photos… Whoops. Anyway, the day turned into night, everyone except me and Ben got pissed and then we left. I suppose I had a lovely day; the best bit was actually getting married to Ben, though. Then the honeymoon.

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Our wedding day — Mr & Mrs Bartolf

Our honeymoon was paid by Father-in-Law and Step-Mother-in-Law and it was amazing. No, we didn’t go to some tropical island or go skiing. We chose a hillside cottage in Acharacle, in very West Scotland. It was a holiday of a lifetime for me. We drove for around thirteen hours to get to our destination (the day after the wedding), getting on a ferry and crawling past demon-eyed sheep on the roadside. Arriving in the dark was probably the best thing we could have done. We had absolutely no idea what our surroundings looked like, and there was no lighting whatsoever to hint at anything. I think we arrived (after knocking on someone’s door and asking where we were) at about midnight and were taken aback at how fantastic our accommodation was. “The Seashell” is a circular house that is open plan and is specifically designed for honeymooners. We bedded down for the night and had a lovely lay-in. I think I was the first to wake, and sneaking a peek through the curtains, I remember being totally awestruck at the views in front of me. A low cloud hung in the air, so it was misty, but all around was a rugged, raw landscape. I’ll never forget that feeling when I opened the curtains.

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The view from The Seashell, Acharacle.

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Ben getting ready to eat our big veggie breakfast.

 We had an amazing time in Ardnamurchan and, being nature buffs, saw lots of fantastic wildlife that we could never had dreamed we’d see. Golden eagles circled above us as we walked through the forests, seals frolicked in the water and best of all pine martens visited us on our last night, feasting on the peanuts we’d left for them. On our last holiday (also Scotland) we went on an RSPB guided walk, where the seasoned guide said she had never been lucky enough to see a pine marten… Ben and I glanced at each other with a knowing smile… We have!

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The elusive pine marten, nibbling on some peanuts.

 So, that’s really all that’s happened over the last two years… Oh yeah, and the new ironing board cover — it was on sale at Sainsbury’s, for £6.00 (how could I walk by?).

But hey, let’s not leave it so long next time.