Wolves, Predators And Vixens.

When I am not writing about love, need and tendresse in the Venice lagoon or the ecstasy of passion with oysters, wine and hot baguette, I am a right little drab Domestos.

A vixen fix’n her gaze

Beyond my little world of kids, buses and ASDA is the drama of landscape and nature. Regular readers will recall my delight at the recent visit of Mrs Fox. You know those stories where some kind of magical animal appears and changes lives. Well, that is how I felt when Mrs Fox somehow chose to share my mortadella sandwich. I figured we might never meet again, but today she came back. All those times when I wasn’t selected for the sports team or voted girl most likely (only because I already had), were swept away. I know this beast loves me. Maybe she has one of my works in her burrow. 

I am not religious in any way but to connect with this animal is a joy that seems beyond this world. Can’t say why. Does anyone know…..?

Now let’s get a bit serious. Half of today’s News is all about the serial sex offending of the deceased  Sir Jimmy Savile (for non UK readers, he was a famous TV entertainer and charity fund raiser). The other half of the News is Lance Armstrong who has been labelled a drug cheat. 

The connection between the two matters is that both were protected by an insidious culture of celebrity worship. The great and the good are now wringing hands and thrashing around with enquiries and public inquests as if no one understands why these things happened and no one spoke out. The issue is not quite as simple as I suggest but the celebrity as god is a major feature.

Great wedges of righteous hypocrisy will be heaped upon these sinners. All the pus of “totally unacceptable” clichés will crowd around the wound. Speeches will be made. But remember this – at present some 200 hundred detectives are working on the phone hacking case against the News Of The World. Most of the hacking “victims” were celebrities. Hundreds of thousands of pounds have been paid to them as “compensation”. Millions upon millions of pounds are being spent to persecute the hounded vixen editor Rebekah Brooks. They have even scooped her driver to put frighteners on her. The case has been adjourned for perhaps a year. Lawyers will receive fees for one hour that a bus driver earns in a month. I will not bore you with explaining who will be paying for a lot of this, but you know don’t you.

Rebekah with her child. Hundreds of detectives are on her case.

The allegation is that The News Of The World broke rules. Many journalists and private detectives are not selfless kind people. We do not need a show trial to tell us. Celebrities who want the fame and cash were terrified of the “Gutter Press”. I know (and believe me, I do know), that the newspapers knew all about Savile. All the glitzy full gloss sports writers knew all about Lance Armstrong. I just say  you may have to accept a few celebrity squeals of intrusion or tolerate the alternative. Because that is what we’ve got. The inner cliques knew it all. We did not and that is the way they wanted it.

Emma thinx: In a sewer a soiled hand will hold the lamp.

Lunch With Mrs Fox

It’s OK, I’m friendly…….really.

For me, Nature, in all its forms, represents a shimmering drop of liquid beauty trembling on a leaf between Wonder and Fear. Now – how is that for pure PURPLE!!!!? The sad thing is – that is how I actually feel about it. Who could deny the sense of awe at the close up view of a spider’s leg?

Well actually I probably could…..

Sometimes Nature just ain’t natural

All this leads me to my recent lunch with Mrs Fox. It’s hard to tell quite often but I’m sure it is Mrs Fox because shortly after she arrived at table, she sat down to have a wee. Generally in my experience, ladies sit down.
 She turned up quite out of the blue. I had done my domestic servitude duty at ASDA and had sat down with a mortadella baguette with English salad cream and lettuce. A slightly misty sunlight flooded through the lattice of oak trees and concrete council street lighting. Mrs Fox wandered across the lawn and sat down next to me. We looked at each other in the way that people do on trains and at supermarket checkouts. We shared my sandwich. She liked the meat but looked at me in horror when I offered her some bread. (It was like being the only mum without a new 4×4 vehicle at the posh school).

Thanks for lunch – see ya later.

Mrs Fox seemed quite content to eat the rest of my lunch while I went and got my camera. Being very much an urban urchin I have always been part terrified and part overawed by wild beasts. In my own humble little way I felt as if the universe had conferred a great honour on me.Encounters form our lives I suppose, but we savour so few.

Emma thinx:  You are what you meet.