It took a while for me to get around to my first flight on a Boeing 787-9 Dreamliner, but it was certainly worth the wait.
Sweetening the deal on my Etihad Airways flight from Brisbane to Abu Dhabi was the fact that I was upgraded from business class to first class. (Yes, this has been happening to me quite a bit lately. I try to explain why here.)
I was sorry to read that more than 180 passengers on Royal Caribbean’s Explorer of the Seas were struck down by what the Australian media called a “stomach bug” on a recent cruise into Sydney.
I sincerely hope the inconvenience of being ill doesn’t put these people off taking further cruises. I feel their pain, because it happened to me during a cruise down the Suez Canal, but I can assure them that Royal Caribbean will look after them, and work hard to prevent a repeat.
I often claim to be a “citizen of the world” — which I am. We all are, and if more of us felt that way, then maybe we’d stop being unkind to each other on the basis of nationality, skin colour or religion.
OK, I won’t hold my breath on that. But maybe if we viewed the Earth as our home, we’d look after the planet a lot better than we do.
The subject of forgiveness has been much on my mind over the past few days. Specifically: when a person is deeply wronged by somebody they should be able to trust, is there any way back?
To make my point, I’m going to use some examples from the world of celebrity– but the principles apply to us all.
Director Roman Polanski was found guilty of the statutory rape of a 13-year-old girl in 1977, but fled to Europe before he could be sentenced. Now, a court in Poland says it will not extradite him to the United States, where the offence occurred.
London-based Australian musician and television host Rolf Harris, whose funny records and exaggerated persona I loved as a child, was jailed at the age of 84 last year for sexual offences against four female victims stretching back 40 years. The court heard, among other things, that Harris had had a long-running relationship with a teen-aged friend of his daughter, and that it had ruined her life.
Woody Allen, one of my favourite filmmakers, stands accused or molesting his adoptive daughter Dylan Farrow. But police, the Connecticut state attorney and child-abuse experts decided there was insufficient evidence and that the girl appeared to have been “coached” in giving evidence. That was in 1993, yet there are some people today swear that Allen is guilty.
Three well-known cases — and all of them different. In the Harris case, the court found him guilty and he is in jail; in the Allen case, due process was followed and charges were not laid, yet allegations remain. Polanski, meanwhile, seems to have escaped justice altogether.
In any case that is serious enough to go to court, the legal system plays its role in determining innocence or guilt and, in the latter case, setting an appropriate punishment. Sometimes the police, prosecutors, judges and juries get it wrong; usually they get it right.
Beyond that, the rest of us just have opinions. We can boycott films or rant on our blogs and social-media sites, but that won’t get us any closer to the truth. And, at the end of the day, when it comes to strangers, it’s really none of our business.
But what about an incident of actual harm or betrayal that involves somebody we know?
Sometimes the circumstances are opaque — nobody knows the truth except those who were there, and they provide different, self-serving versions of events.
When there are two “truths” to choose from, how do we know we have chosen the correct one? Do we have to take sides, or should we sit on the fence? But by doing nothing, do we embolden the perpetrator and betray the victim?
In any genuine case of wrongdoing by one person against another, we can, and should, offer our support. But only the victim can decide whether they will offer forgiveness.
When I typed in my problem, it came back with an automated message saying the company was aware of the problem and its “entire staff” was working on fixing it.
Really, I thought? From the CEO to the cleaner, they were all focused on getting this blog up and running. It must have worked, because here I am again.
A few months ago, I received an email from my bank telling me that they were closing my branch office and moving my account to another branch further away from where I live. Why were they doing this? “To serve you better,” the missive said.
Of course, I thought, it is entirely in my own interests that I now have to travel further — including crossing a busy highway — to get to my bank branch. If there were another reason — say, for example, that the current building was scheduled to be demolished (which seems to be happening now) — surely they would have told me.
These are just two examples of the simple lies we hear or read every day. From big corporations and governments to individuals, we are hooked on lying.
From “that looks great on you” to “no taxpayer will be worse off” or “this won’t hurt a bit” our lives are full of lies.
And the reasons vary from not being bothered to find out the truth to believing that a “white” lie doesn’t hurt anybody.
In fact, the average person lies 20 times a day, each and every day. (I just made that statistic up. It could be true, but it’s probably a lie. I’m no better than anybody else.)
The real truth is that nobody tells the truth. Not all the time. And when we don’t know when somebody else is lying, and we don’t care when we do, then we really do have a problem.
There’s no better way to make people switch off their attention than to start talking about road safety.
And yet, as long as people continue to die unnecessarily on the roads, it’s one conversation that we really must have.
I wrote this piece for The National in Abu Dhabi a few days ago, and it received a mixed response. Those who commented didn’t necessarily agree on the causes of the high number of fatalities, nor the remedy.
It is worth noting here that the United Arab Emirates has very modern roads and other infrastructure. But is also has an unacceptably high number of road fatalities — at a rate that’s four times higher than the UK, and twice that of Australia.
It is not unusual to see drivers chatting on their mobiles while they weave between lanes without indicating, at speeds much higher than the speed limit — which is, curiously and possibly uniquely, higher than the number on the roadside signs.
Occasionally, but not uncommonly, you’ll see an unrestrained child poking his or her head out of the sun roof while the car proceeds at full speed. And tailgating is so common you’d be forgiven for believing it to be mandaory.
Bad driving continues to be a problem, I argue, because too few people care enough to make the case against it.
As I say in the article, one of my primary school friends died in a car accident. So did one of my high school friends.
We cannot continue to accept this as a “normal” situation. In the UAE, where the situation is dire, some tough decisions about enforcement and education must be made. There and elsewhere, we must all strive to eliminate preventable deaths.
I used to work with a self-important, 60-something journalist who was of English origin but had spent many years working in colonial Africa. He prided himself on conforming to what he believed to be traditional British values — and one of those was the proper way to form, and behave in, a queue.
He told the story on more than one occasion of how a young man had stood in front of him in a bus queue, and that he had objected to this faux pas by “beating the boy with my umbrella”.
In his world, there was a proper way to do everything — and a place for everyone in the pecking order.
We’ve moved on from systems based on class and race, thank goodness, but many people still stick to the rule of etiquette that dictate that queues remain orderly. If you have to line up for something, you join the end of the queue and you wait your turn.
But not everybody feels that way. In many parts of Asia, it is a Darwinian exercise where the first to be served is the one who can make their way to head of the queue by any means, fair or foul.
It extends to the common situation in Shanghai where, despite signage telling them otherwise, passengers for the Metro will insist on pushing their way on to the train before allowing other passengers to get off. This, of course, makes no sense, it just disadvantages everybody and holds the train up.
My general attitude is that we should all take our turn. But, at the same time, we need to be sensitive to local customs, so I generally just shrug my shoulders when somebody pushes in. Getting angry doesn’t work when the other party simply doesn’t get it.
But, of course, even in societies where queuing is the cultural norm, the situation sometimes falls over. I’m thinking about waiting for a taxi during a downpour, when all bets are off.
P.S. I know the picture shows a row of bicycles. It’s the nearest thing I had.
I received this email from a real estate agent in my hometown of Brisbane.
While it was a nice gesture to get in touch, the reality is that we’ve never actually spoken. Yes, it’s been that long.
The message went on to say that a lot of her clients had been requesting “updated appraisals” of their properties and wanted to know whether I’d like one too. I doubt the first part – real estate agents only tout for business when things are slow, not when a lot of people are contacting them* – and the second part simply baffles me. I don’t own any property in Brisbane.
A few months ago, I received an email from a cruise company booking agent telling me how nice it was to speak to me. I replied, politely, pointing out that I hadn’t actually spoken to her, I’d booked my trip entirely online. At least she had the good grace to reply with an email beginning: “Sprung!” She went on to explain that it was a form letter she sent to all her clients.
The thing about email and social media apps are they allow you to send personal messages to people you’ve never met and know very little about.
I don’t mind this tailored spam, because it’s sometimes amusing and it’s usually easy to get rid off. I may wake up with 50 emails in my inbox, but I can delete 46 of them within a few seconds.
What really bemuses me, though, are those poorly executed phishing scams. They are full of spelling mistakes and awkward phrases, and they usually revolve around a vastly improbable scenario. As if I really am the beneficiary of the will of the widow of a Nigerian army officer.
The disturbing thing is that they must work on someone, or they simply wouldn’t exist. As PT Barnum probably never said, there’s a sucker born every minute.
* On the subject of real-estate speak, I wish I had a dollar for every time I’ve heard or read the phrase: “There has never been a better time to buy.”
Despite their apparent omnipresence on the interwebs, listicles are not a new thing. When I first went to work in the UK, every mid- and downmarket tabloid newspaper was running daily items such as “15 things you didn’t know about Jimmy Saville” (although they missed out the really important one).
I don’t think they were called listicles then, but they were a staple of journalism because the editors knew that the readers liked them. Oh, and they were (and are) very easy and cheap to compile (except that the researchers had to used the newspaper’s clippings library to find their facts rather than Google).
If only they’d have devised a way of making people buy more than one copy of the paper to find out the next fun fact, which is essentially what websites do know by requiring you to click through to the next page for another meaty morsel.
Anyway, it got me thinking about what kind of clickbait headings I might use if I lowered myself to the level of running regular little lists.
Here are some off the top of my head:
Ten celebrities you don’t give a damn about any more
Twenty foods that will make you even fatter
Seven sex positions that will send you straight to hospital
Thirty-five excuses for not going straight home tonight
Eighteen people you wouldn’t spit on if they were on fire
Eleven countries you never knew existed — and one that doesn’t any more
Three things you’ll have forgotten by this time tomorrow
Fourteen places you may have left your car keys
Six billion people who don’t even know you exist
I’ve been part of an on-off conversation, in person and over social media, about the pros and cons of vegetarianism and veganism.
As usual, especially in the internet age, it’s easy to find scientific “evidence” to prove the worth of any dietary whim. The latest is that lard and butter are better for you than some vegetable oils, which may cause cancer, and that three glasses a champagne a day can stave off dementia (it’s a shame that I only drink to forget).
I can certainly understand the argument that eating meat involves animal cruelty. But that is one of the unpleasant truths that I and other carnivores choose to put to one side, or simplistically explain away (“they were bred to be eaten, and as long as they have a nice life out in the paddocks don’t suffer too much when they’re slaughtered, well, that’s OK”).
If people have made a conscious choice to eschew meat for that reason, more power to them. But, like the religious fringe-dwellers who knock on suburban doors on the weekend, they should not expect too many of us to convert to their way of thinking.
What I don’t buy, however, is the argument that vegetarian or vegan diets are actually better for us. Maybe I’m not meeting the right people, but all the vegans I’ve ever met have looked incredibly pail and frail. And, as far as I know, there is no evidence to suggest that they are healthier than the average person (although, as I said before, Google will surely turn something up that favours that proposition).
For better or worse, humans have adapted to being meat eaters. There is even some evidence that eating meat made us who we are (again, for better or worse), giving us an advantage over all other species to the point where we dominate the planet. But, once again, I got that from the internet.
What is demonstrably true, however, is that I personally am not a perfect specimen of human health and fitness. I eat too much, drink too much and exercise too little. I suspect this may even be the case if I were a vegetarian.
Anyhow, whatever you do, don’t take this post as me preaching about my lifestyle, which clearly is not superior.
But I would appreciate if somebody could answer one burning question: why do vegans create food that looks like meat? If you’re committed to a plant-only diet, why sculpt processed food into the shape of sausages and burgers?
See also: Is tofu food?
We all face criticism in life. The healthiest thing to do, of course, is to brush it off. But sometimes it gets a bit too much.
I’m thinking about a situation about four years ago when a television program dedicated 12 minutes of its one-hour running time in an attempt to eviscerate me over a few tweets I’d exchanged with the show’s host.
All is fair, I thought, until a young woman co-host, who I’d never met, started making comments about what my reaction might be to seeing her on the screen. I won’t repeat what was said, but it was highly defamatory.
I was encouraged to take legal action, but I didn’t because I knew that to do so would only draw attention to a show on a community station that had a very small audience. Better to do nothing than to give publicity to somebody who didn’t deserve it.
I was reminded of this tonight while reading some comments on a Facebook post linking to this piece I wrote about the shrinking size of airline seats. (Please read it and let me know what you think.)
Here’s the comment:
Now, I don’t know who Ian Staples is, and I really can’t complain about being called a “fatty singleton” in any jurisdiction where truth alone is a defence against libel.
But I do buckle at being called a “moron” by somebody who makes a plural by using an apostrophe.
When is life’s journey about exploration and confronting the new, and when is it about running away and escaping the past? Or is it always a bit of both?
That’s what I’ve been wondering about much of my adult life, and especially now that I seem to be a confirmed, serial expatriate, exiled from the place of my birth but, thanks to technology and annual holidays, not entirely separated from those who mean the most to me.
Since I fled overseas in 2008 — first to China, then to Scotland, then back to Australia (working, briefly), then to Thailand, back to Australia (waiting far too long for a visa and a work permit), and now to the UAE — I’ve had a lot of experiences. Some jolly japes with mates, old and new, and pleasant encounters with people I’d not have otherwise met.
So there’s a lot to be grateful for. And a lot to be said about travelling to, and immersing oneself in, new places. But there’s always a feeling that I’m missing out on something by not being somewhere else.
There are a lot of questions, but not so many answers.
To be continued …
On my recent trip between Abu Dhabi and Munich, flying Eithad Airways, I was fortunate enough to be upgraded from business class to first class in both directions.
When I mentioned (boasted about?) this on social media, I received replies from envious folk wanting to know how I’d managed this feat. To be honest, I’m not entirely sure.
Like everybody else, I’ve read those “how to get an upgrade” stories and blog posts — which are mostly about getting promoted from economy to business class — and what I did doesn’t fit their recommendations. That’s because what I did was nothing. (By the way, a lot of the advice they give is often contradictory: arrive early, or be the last to check-in; be nice to the staff, or be angry …)
On both occasions, I was simply told at the gate that my seat number had changed. The first leg was a reward flight, so I thought they were going to move me around in the business cabin, perhaps to a less-desirable seat (although they’re all pretty good) to accommodate a full-paying passenger. Instead, they put me into first class.
On the second occasion, the flight was part of a fully paid business-class return fare (yes, I splurged on myself*) to Australia, with a stopover in Abu Dhabi, which is where I am now. (Brisbane, you’ll see me in mid-December.)
So on the first occasion, I could think that it was an extra reward for being a Gold Etihad Guest member and having accrued enough points to afford the reward flight. On the second occasion, it may have been a reward for paying full fare. But they seem like contradictory things.
I’m only guessing here, but I think that travelling on my own (cue: sad violins) has something to do with getting an upgrade, especially on Etihad. Unlike other airlines I’ve used, where business class is full of suits, there seem to be a lot of couples and family groups on Etihad, and one person is easier to move than two, three or five.
I suppose the biggest factor is that I’ve become quite a loyal Etihad customer, which is not difficult when a) I live in their home port of Abu Dhabi, and they are the airline with the widest possible choice of destinations and greatest convenience, and b) Etihad is a truly top-notch airline, with its in-flight service running rings around almost every other carrier I’ve ever flown (and that’s quite a few).
Also, I have no idea whether Etihad (or any other business) keeps a record of these things, but I’m almost always a fuss-free passenger. I can’t imagine any business really wanting to look after a customer who constantly complains. It may work once, but I’d like to think that there’s a little list somewhere to make sure that the difficult people don’t get rewarded in the future.
Oh, and I’m not reluctant to broadcast it when I get good service. I tweeted my delight at getting upgraded, with shout-outs to Etihad’s Twitter account. But I have not done that with the expectation of getting further upgrades, I’ve done it because I appreciate being looked after and I know that word-of-mouth is important to all businesses.
Because I care about my personal credibility, I’m not going to promote a product or service that sucks just because they did me a favour. And even if a business I like doesn’t quite measure up on occasions, I’m not going to be afraid to say so.
Without exception, I’ve found Etihad’s ground and cabin crew to be friendly, cool under pressure and competent. It’s always pleasure to recommend a business that serves me well, be it a corner store or an international airline.
(By the way, if you are travelling first class on Etihad, I recommend the New York eye fillet — one of the best steaks I had in a long, long time, and certainly the best ever in the sky.)
* And, as I’ve noted before, I’m a big guy, I like to be comfortable when I fly and I’m prepared to pay for it.
The holiday in Nuremberg and Munich is now over. It ended, rather delightfully, in an upgrade to Etihad Airways first class on my way back to Abu Dhabi. I’ve written about that here. I’ll be in Abu Dhabi for a few weeks, doing my regular job and writing on this blog about travel and other things that interest me, and then I’ll be off to Brisbane for Christmas. If all goes to plan, I’ll be blogging that too.
Better than wurst: I spent my final day in Germany at the Sheraton Munich Airport Hotel. The staff were extremely friendly, the room comfortable and the service excellent. But the highlight was this (above) prawn and scallop risotto. One of the best meals I’ve had in a hotel — and the perfect antidote to all that tasty but stodgy German sausage.
Beers in a brewery: I finally made it to the Hofbrauhaus and tasted the local brew. Those 1-litre steins are heavy! I had trouble picking one up; no idea how the staff manage to carry six at a time. I also did the mandatory hop-on, hop-off tour. Munich has changed a bit since I was last here, and I already have a few places in mind to visit the next time I’m here (which, according to my airline ticket, is March).
City of contrasts: November 5. Munich is a bustling place at the best of times. Yesterday, the lead-up to last night’s Champions League football game between Bayern Munich and Arsenal brought a sea of read and white (the colours of both teams) into the central Marienplatz. The famous Hofbrauhaus was full to bursting, but I got a seat and a homemade brew at the nearby Weisshaus. You don’t have to go too far to quench your thirst in Bavaria. There are some street scenes here; I hope to take more photos and share some deeper insights later today.
Southern comfort: Although unimpressed with the train service — my reserved carriage and seat did not exist, among other hiccups — and the scene around Munich station — it reminded me of Fortitude Valley in Brisbane in the early 1980s, right down to a drunk doing 15 rounds with a lamppost — I’m starting to warm to Munich
The welcome at the Mercure City Centre has been very warm and the extras — free wifi, breakfast and minibar — have made this the best-value hotel stay I’ve had in ages. Here’s a picture of my room.
55 not out: By taking this trip to Germany, I made a deliberate choice to spend my birthday on my own. Why? Well, that’s something I may write about one day.
Nevertheless, I’ve been overwhelmed by the messages I’ve received by text message, Twitter and,especially, Facebook, where my timeline runneth over.
I’m heading off for breakfast now (they do a nice hot and cold buffet at the Hampton by Hilton in Nuremberg, with an emphasis on products that are not widely available in the UAE), then will be catching a train to Munich. Depending on how it all goes, I will update this blog later today or tomorrow.
A day at the museums: First, the Documentation Centre near the Nazi Party Rally Grounds. When you think of Nuremberg, you can’t escape that elephant.
This is where, in “the most German of all German cities”, Adolf Hitler held his annual egofest. It’s all documented in the museum, which was constructed around the unfinished Nazi Party congress hall.
It’s quite chilling, especially for somebody with German heritage, to see the footage of those thousands of people completely mesmerised by Hitler, and ponder how the human mind works; what separates good from evil.
On a lighter note, I went to the Railway Museum, and saw trains, big and small, old and new. The picture, above, is something fancy my new camera did automatically to a shot I took in the Old Town. The pictures below are a swan near the rally site; a train at the museum and a view of the Pegnitz river running through the Old Town.
When in Rome … November 3, 2015 I always like to sample the local delicacies. In Nuremberg, it’s the sausage or Bratwurst. Three small ones on a bread roll with as much mustard a I can drown it in — a bargain at 3 euro. Below are some other pictures taken yesterday. These are from the new camera, and I’m a little disappointed in the quality. I’m not ruling out operator error yet, so hopefully things will improve.
Sightseeing: It’s autumn and the last of the green leaves are turning yellow or brown. It’s cold but quite magical here in Nuremberg. Here’s a picture of the opera house.
The train trip and the hotel: November 2, noon. A smooth connection from Frankfurt airport to the train station. A 30 minute delay, but now in Nuremberg at the Hampton by Hilton hotel, and about to take a nap in the bed pictured below before I take on the town.
A surprise: Upgraded to first class. What can I say? I was feeling a little down because of a heavy head cold, so this was the tonic. Etihad service is great all the time, but especially so in business and first class. I’m not sure why they chose me but it may be because I was travelling alone. In any case, a few Bollingers and a real steak, and a flat bed, made a big difference.
The pre-flight procedure: I don’t usually have spicy foods these days (long story, don’t ask), but I thought the spicy Thai noodle in the Etihad premium lounge might clear up my sinuses. I have no evidence that the champagne will help me in any way, but, hey, I’m on holiday. the flight boards in about two hours so I have plenty of time to experiment.
The shopping. 1-2pm November 1, 2015. There’s always the last-minute shopping before. This time I went to Marina Mall and bought a jacket and a fleecy thing from the fat men’s store. That almost guarantees that the weather will be warm when I arrive in Frankfurt. The thing is that I shop quickly. The clothes were selected, tried on and bought within 10 minutes. Then I had a coffee and I wandered into Carrefour, and walked out with a new camera. Yes, I know I don’t need a camera because I have a phone. And a camera. Now I have a phone and two cameras. Hopefully my pictures on this trip will be more in focus than the one above, which was taken with my phone.
Here is another excerpt from my unpublished book for young people and general readers:
There are many stories of cats who have travelled incredible distances on foot, by car, train or plane. Many cats have demonstrated a remarkable “homing” instinct, which guides them back to their homes over many miles.
In England, a cat called Sooty made it home from 160km away. Another British cat, Pilsbury, walked the 12km trip to a former home at least 40 times – and each time was retrieved by its owners. The champion of them all, though, is an American tomcat called Ninja who moved with his owners from Washington State to Utah in 1996. He disappeared soon after they settled in their new home, but turned up at his old place – 1370 kilometres away – a year later.
Skittles, a scruffy orange cat, went missing after travelling with its owners to a trailer park in Wisconsin, 568km from its home in Kelly Lake, Minnesota. The cat disappeared and the owners went home without it. About six months later, Skittles returned to Kelly Lake with calloused paws and bones showing through its skin – indicating it had walked all or most of the way back.
Sometimes, though, cats don’t get home under their own steam. In 2001, an international rescue mission was mounted to save a New Zealand cat that had stowed away on a cargo ship bound for South Korea. The cat, a female named Colin, was adopted nine years previously by dock workers. Her safe return, accompanied by quarantine officials, was sponsored by a pet food company and the Korean airline. “She’s been a bit of a naughty girl but we’re all looking forward to seeing her again,” said John Hacon, a spokesman for the Westgate tanker company, on the eve of her return to Port Taranaki.
A Florida woman was reunited with her cat in 2004 – seven years after it went missing. The 10-year-old cat turned up 4500km away in San Francisco. Authorities said the feline, Cheyenne, didn’t walk all the way, though. She was either adopted by a Florida family who then travelled to California, or hitched a ride with a cross-country vehicle.
News that Cheyenne had been found and identified by her microchip reached owner Pamela Edwards on the same day she was forced to her other, 19-year-old cat put down. “It has just been an amazing experience,” Ms Edwards said. “It’s really like reuniting with a lost family member.”
In July, 2004, British officials were mystified when a cat found on the streets of the university town of Oxford was found to be carrying a microchip that was registered in the United States. RSPCA inspector Doug Davidson said there were three theories as to how the cat, nicknamed Jasper, got to be in the UK.
“The first is that he’s a strong swimmer,” he joked. “The second is that he belongs to Americans living in Oxford and the third would be that it was a British family in the USA who adopted him and then brought him back.”
Probably the most-travelled cat of all was called Hamlet, who escaped from his container in the hold of a Canadian jet. When he was found behind an aircraft panel seven weeks later, the plane had flown 600,000km.
Another cat, Ozzy, had a similar adventure. He completed 10 round trips from the Middle East to the UK over 10 days before he was found in the cargo hold of a British Airways jet.
Sources: Homing Instinct, PBS Nature television program, pbs.org; Current Science, March 5, 2002, Vl 87, Issue 16, page 13; Cat rescue mission reaches Korea, Whiskas press release on Scoop.co.nz, December 3, 2001; Microchip reunites cat with owner, BBC News (news.bbc.co.uk), August 30, 2004; US ‘ambassador’ cat baffles RSPCA, BBC News (news.bbc.co.uk), August 5, 2004; Julia Wilson, www.cat-world.com.au, 2002-2005; Stowaway cat clocks up 63,000 miles, BBC North Yorkshire (bbc.co.uk/northyorkshire), July 19, 2002
1. Cats can be good for your health. Scientists at the University of Virginia discovered that kids exposed to cat dander at an early age were less likely to develop allergies than those who had only been exposed to dust mites. (Scholastic Choices, September 2001, Vol 17 Issue 1)
2. Cats don’t shoot you; dogs do. In the past five years, at least six Americans have been shot by their dog. According to the Washington Post, there have also been recent incidents in France and New Zealand.
3. Cats can sense illness and display empathy for people suffering bereavement.
4. Cats learn quickly to use a litter tray. You don’t have to take them for walkies just for them to follow nature’s call.
5. Cats are adorable.
A little while ago, a friend noticed this caption on a picture attached to an Australian newspaper report about overweight police: “No doughnuts: Top cop wants to build a slim blue line.”
My friend asked: “From which comics or TV shows do they get the idea Aussie cops eat doughnuts?”
I guess whoever wrote the caption (or “blockline” as we used to call them in the old days) was thinking of police chief Clancy Wiggum in The Simpsons, whose fondness for doughnuts has been a part of popular Western culture for the past quarter-century. (Although it probably predates that.)
So an observation made by a humourist in America, and perpetuated on a popular TV show, gets somehow transferred into real life in Australia.
The danger is that it becomes accepted as an Australian stereotype, even though it isn’t true. I would venture to suggest that, if Aussie cops are indeed getting fat, it’s more to do with more popular fast foods such as burgers and fried chicken — all be they also largely American — rather than doughnuts.
In a world full of horror and pain, this sort of thing probably doesn’t matter very much — except that, sometime in the future, what is distinctly American will be mistaken as global, and what is uniquely Australian will be absent altogether.
Update: November 16, 2018
A man says he is suing British Airways because he suffers back pain after sitting next to an obese man. It’s an issue that comes up every now and then, and I have a pony in this race. Here’s what I wrote then, and I still stand by.
According to a news website many of my friends say I shouldn’t read, Professor Dame Sally Davies, the Chief Medical Officer of the United Kingdom, has suggested that fat people be forced to pay more for their airline tickets.
This viewpoint is supported, on the same website, by Julia Stephenson, who says: “I just hate being plonked next to someone who – how shall I put it? – is a little too large for their seat.”
Loyalties have been tested among my gang of friends over the past few weeks as the Rugby World Cup has tried, largely unsuccessfully, to drag fans away from the regular English Premier League fixtures being screened on the weekend.
At my usual haunt, the rugger fans congregate around the big-screen TV at the back of the room, while the footy fans are in the middle of the room, watching the football from their usual vantage point.
Occasionally a roar arises from the other end of the room, which temporarily distracts the fans from whatever game they are watching. They check the score on the other code, then go back to their preferred viewing.
The situation has also led to comparisons being made between football and its petulant child, rugby union.
The obvious ones have been rolled out — including the inescapable fact that the footballers try their best to feign injury while the rugger players try to shake off their pain and get back into the fray, even when a flow of blood or a dangling limb suggests the situation is quite serious.
One of my friends from the north of England, who is familiar with both games, also pointed out something that I’d not noticed — that the rugby players, despite the ruggedness of their game (and, sometimes, their personalities), are generally far more deferential to the referee than the footballers.
I posited that this may be because, in much of the world, rugby is the game of private schools (or, as the English know them, public schools), where class is king and everybody knows their place.
“Yes, Sir. No, Sir,” a rugby player will say, whereas a footballer will do his best to show complete disdain for the ref, and even chat back, often resulting in a stiffer penalty, turning a caution into a yellow card or a yellow card into a red card. Even their captains don’t have the sense to drag them away from a volatile situation.
Of course, Premier League footballers earn so much money that it must be difficult for them to have any respect for anybody. But that’s no excuse for being stupid.
Another excerpt from my unpublished, and untitled, book for young and general readers
The English novelist Thomas Hardy so loved his pet cat that he buried it beneath its favourite tree and penned these lines: “Never another pet for me! Let your place all vacant be!” Continue reading Felines’ friends
