To eat meat or not to eat meat, that seems to be the constant question. Though not necessarily at this rather excessive time of year, but a very valid question for January. When we (should) consider such moral quandaries and dilemmas.

My relationship with animals was best summed up on a safari in South Africa a decade ago. We went out just before sunset and saw magnificent sights, like thousands of zebra and wildebeest roaming the plains, herds of elephants with their young, dozens of kudu and springbok running majestically across the land, ostriches, giraffes, rhinos, wow. Amazing. In the wild. Wow. And it was truly magnificent, and an unquestionable ‘don’t I love animals’ moment for all the family.

Then the truck took us to a tented area where they barbecued zebra and kudu and springbok and ostrich and served them with flat bread and salad. Without any irony. And it was fucking delicious.

Because I have an almost infinite capacity for dissociation. I dissociate the living, breathing (biting, attacking, smelly) animal from the serving that appears on my plate. Or in the butchers in the cold cabinet. Different things, different purposes, different morality. I hate reading that Siberian Tigers may become extinct, or that 5000 acres of decimated rainforest endangers the Madagascan primates. But I’ll be reading that whilst eating a burger. Or a turkey.

Whether this dissociation occurs out of necessity, naivety or just plain ignorance, I’m happy for it. Its a blessing, not a curse, and I feel in no way hypocritical in this respect. Or putting it another way: I don’t give a shit; it is what it is.

And that dissociation is the same facility that prevents me from punching Arsenal fans when I see them. I hate the collective smugness that is epidemic amoung the Emirates faithful, that supercilious, almost billious superiority that accompanies their every movement, word and action, yet I can love some of them dearly as individuals. Seperate the one from the herd. The cow from the steak. And by the same token this may be morally wrong. I perhaps should punch each and every one of them at each and every opportunity, like I should never eat meat (unless my life depended upon it, or it was roadkill) but I seperate and make my choices.

If only Spurs had chosen to beat West Brom at home earlier in the season. Or Newcastle when they were really shitty. Then we’d be 4 in the league right now. But we cannot mourn such lost opportunites. Even though we really fucking want to. Because that path leads to depression, to despondency, to dark thoughts.

Never mind, off to Brazil and Argentina in two days to consider all my moral issues whilst eating nothing but steaks. Huge, red, dripping…

Happy Saturday

A xxxx