Why did no one give that student on the Nottingham bus 20 pence? Perhaps they
were too drunk or sleepy to think at all, or they didn’t wish to annoy the
driver by intervening, or they even felt a small, mean-minded pleasure at
watching a dispute unfold and a young girl duly “punished” for a very slight
error in not having the correct change. Yet none of them was moved to help,
as no doubt they would want someone to help their own daughter, sister or
mother.
Last week, I was standing in a crowded Tube carriage, and seated next to me
were three young boys of about 11, who were waving around a bit of newspaper
with a topless Page 3 model on it. Their intention was to embarrass the
adult occupants of the carriage, by thrusting the picture of bare breasts in
their faces while asking a spurious question about a news story next to it.
They were silly boys, but not frightening, and in the old days I suppose an
authoritative older man would simply have snatched the paper off them and
ticked them off. But instead the man opposite them remained frozen, staring
straight ahead as they waggled the page in his face.
This went on for a while until the ringleader shoved it at me, and I said in
as loud a voice as I could muster: “Nobody’s embarrassed. You’re just making
a fool of yourself.” Not an Algonquin-level put-down, I admit, but there was
something about the rigid pretence in the carriage that nothing was
happening, that was worse than the boys’ nonsense itself.
In a new and insightful book, Being British: What’s Wrong With It? the author
Peter Whittle examines, among other things, the cultural malaise that now
affects our behaviour in public spaces. As an experiment, he decided
politely to challenge the perpetrators of minor offences such as loud
swearing or putting feet up on train seats. He found that “a fundamental
shift had occurred… It was I who was considered the troublemaker, the rude
one.”
It is strange that in an era of endless gabble and self-assertion on social
media, British people are rendered so mute in public about the little things
that add up to a society which retains standards of kindness and respect.
And sometimes, as we saw from the terrible events in Nottingham, those
little things can end up mattering more than anyone might have imagined.
Great talents that never grew up
A survey last week listed the 50 indicators that you have become a fully
fledged adult, which include being able to bleed a radiator, washing up
immediately after eating, and carrying spare shopping bags “just in case”.
I’ve already failed on quite a few – such as owning “best towels” and “filing
post” – but in any case I’d like to substitute a handful of my own: buying a
slow cooker; enjoying lunch alone in a restaurant rather than fretting that
people will think you’re a “Billy-no-mates”; and, when you hear a much-loved
song, briefly considering whether you might like it played at your funeral.
Still, achieving the 50 markers of adulthood is a bit like going to the gym:
it feels great to hit your targets, but then the horrible truth dawns that
you are now expected to keep this stuff up for the rest of your life.
It is interesting that the biggest stars, who retain the tightest grip on the
public imagination, are those who – in many senses – never really grew up.
Elvis Presley, for example, remains such a draw that last week it was
announced that he is to be “virtually resurrected” and taken on tour as a
computerised hologram. Yet I can no more imagine Elvis keeping track of
interest rates than Marilyn Monroe changing a car tyre.
Their talent exempted them from adulthood. Perhaps that’s why we remain
fascinated by them. Perhaps it’s also why they never made it into old age.
Fowl would rather be good livers
The people of California have reportedly been indulging in a final frenzy of
foie gras consumption, before the unctuous foodstuff is banned throughout
the state on July 1.
In this country, it is still legal to import and eat foie gras, but
controversy swirls around the practice of gavage, or force-feeding ducks or
geese until their livers are vastly engorged with fat. Selfridges even
imposed its own ban, but its butcher Jack O’Shea was sacked earlier this
year in part because of revelations that he had been secretly flogging it
under the code-name of “French fillet”.
Some argue that, if done carefully by hand, gavage is not inherently cruel,
while others regard it as a simple abomination. The way forward would appear
to be the route taken by the Spanish farmer Eduardo Sousa, who has made an
acclaimed foie gras simply by permitting his birds to gorge themselves
richly in autumn, when they naturally fatten for winter, before killing
them.
One must, I think, respect the way that animals – unlike us – do not eat to
excess unless they have a strong biological reason. A quick glance around
Britain today confirms the melancholy assumption that if they were to make
foie gras out of humans, no force-feeding would be necessary.