In bed with Caitlin Moran

or Saturday Morning

The Perils of Vegetarianism and the Skunk-Lamb

2D6+CW 23/3 at at James Elliott, best butchers in Islington.

How come that Saturday morning in bed with Caitlin Moran turns to a random whenever wherever with Our Lady of Perfection Skunk-Lamb?

There is an explanation: Le ménage a trois n'est pas très populaire dans ce pays.

And as we are all living together through this year of Brexit Banging at the Door; on a personal level my English manfriend (he'd passed boyhood long ago) and I, we are in our seventh, most dangerous, even perilous, year of our relationship. Relationships' "make it or break it" year as they say.

Our couple's microcosm resonates to perfection with the Brexit macrocosmos schizofrenically shouting "Stay!" and "Go!" with the same breath (as in the old, well known tune...)

... À la guerre comme à la guerre....in war times it's the innocent that suffer most... in this case, it's our Skunk-Lamb that got it all.

Mais, commençons par le commencement...

Seven years ago, upon my arrival:

- You have the magazine - women like magazines.

(Subtitels or between the lines reading: While I, as a man I am having the good,important, practical and interesting bit - the news. You Dumpy, you have the useless magazine)

- ?!?!

(Apparently and despite all past one-year conversations it has skipped my mansfriend attention that "job-description" point one of all my past employments has been "press review", "press digest" "press brief" etc in one or another language. Sometimes this meant roaming the main routes of the capital city about 2-3 am, after a last drink at a nightclub, awaiting to amass the hot, cheap-ink smelling pile of newspapers - they still had different distributors each - drag myself home, swoon for two hours than wake up at 4-5am, prepare the digest for 6-7am, so that it is sent to the office in California within its working time.

Later on it was digital France culture in the headset and the integrity of the world press on the screen all at the same time. Unbelievably easy and accessible.

In between endless mornings at my local Café with the newspapers on more relaxed jobs).

The idea that I might not be grown enough to read the newspaper fascinated me to paralysis and I gave in. No more news, no more serious, grown up duties - just read the magazine. Mind you I haven't touched a magazine since I was... what? 9?)

Few days later:

- There. You are just like her, said my English manfriend pointing at the CW column of Our Lady of Perfection the Skunk-Lamb in a Friday's newspaper somewhere between July and August 2012.

Now let it be clear that Caitlin Moran's Celebrity Watch is nothing less than Chinese riddles for the newcomer. Seven years later, some bits of it still baffle me. The thing is ... I love Chinese riddles. I thrive when it is "all in the pure light and some, though not all in the dark". Precisely from this "some, though not all in the dark" is where the Viking ships enter. It is ingenious, but it doesn't work for the control freaks.

Anyhoouuw, being told that you are "just like" someone you merely understand is also fascinating to paralysis and put a spell on me.

Thus seven years past with the same Saturday morning routine: breakfast, coffee and Caitlin Moran in bed. And of course one's favourites are one's weeknesses.

Now, in the seven year itch I get punished with Our Lady of Perfection. More precisely with her absence. Have we quarrelled during the week, my English manfriend and I, the magazine is no longer delivered to bed come Saturday. Even worse, The Skunk-Lamb gets kidnapped, taken away for the weekend. And my healthy bed-routine disrupted. My cosy companion on this cold and cloudy island taken away from me.

Then I get a grasp of her only on Monday, at the beginig of the working week with all its travel, hurry and the rest of the worldly stuff.

Now enough of the subject of delay, as I hope I made it clear: whether on Brexit negotiation tables, or in my personal bed - international relations are a murky business as usual.

As to the question of vegetarianism vs carnivorism : Being a thorough carnivore myself (by thorough carnivore I mean that I love eating intestines and adore all animal skins. With one of my favourite dishes being Bulgarian "Drob sarma" an oven baked bonanza of finely chopped intestines and rise, topped with the same topping of yoghurt, flower and eggs as the "Musaka". And the other being Iraqi Bombary - intestines filled with rice and spices. Even though I have to admit I prefer my Bulgarian mother's vegetarian version of traditionally hand mincemeated Iraqi Dolma. If the Maraja' in Southern Iraq here about the vegetarian Dolma they'd probably issue a fatwa on my mothers head).

Again: Being a thorough carnivore myself I long-time believed that despite his brilliance my English manfriend is only half-wise (not to use another expression) because of his longstanding vegetarianism. He is vegetarian since he was 8 in the 70s when nobody else around him was, and is very proud about it.

I thought that if this man thinks I shouldn't read the newspaper, something in his head must be amiss. Probably the amino acids. Then I thought that if this man so righteously put Our Lady of Perfection Skunk-Lamb in my hands, then probably the dramatic miss of amino acids in one's brain is not necessarily a bad thing, is it?

This amino acidic conundrum suddenly brought back a long time forgotten memory: my mother telling me "As much as I think your father is a genuine genius, at times I wonder whether his brain functions at all".

With my father being even more thorough carnivore than myself, I thus realized that man's genius- dumb duality is not due to his eating habits, but probably to man's innate nature.

Putting one and one together where:

point one of this reflection - my English manfriend punishing me with CW-deprivation + the second point of it this writing - my English manfriend is cruel cannibal feeding on my and Skunk-Lamb's emotional flesh despite being a vegetarian

= I come to two conclusions

1. Being a vegetarian human does not prevent you from being a predator animal.

2. Being a vegetarian might mislead you and others in the believe that you have conquered your animalistic nature, thus making of you an even more dangerous, sophisticated and perfide predator than ever before.

With all honesty My Lady the more vegan this town becomes the more opportunistic and ferocious it gets. I am not saying that the second results from the first, but I witness they go hand in hand.