Happy Good Friday everyone! Today I witnessed the consequences of a sacrifice; a timely sacrifice that was made for the benefit mankind. Although when I say “mankind”, I am more specifically referring to “the residents of our village” (which might as well technically count as the encompassing of all mankind, given the narrow scope of my personal inter-social existence). And when I say “sacrifice”, I am referring to the slaughter of porcine. Rest assured, contrary to the belief of some folk, our small village is not some irregular place of weird Pagan acts. I was merely at my mate’s book shop (incidentally a brilliant place with an ace stock of cheap books, which are also accessible on line from here), bearing witness to a meat delivery at the butcher next door.
A whole pig was being carried in by the two drivers. My friend asked whether it troubled me that the very same pig was probably ambling around happily on a local farm probably less than 2 days ago. This is the sort of thing people like to ask an ex-vegetarian for some reason. I guess it’s to see if they are able to arouse any sense of carnivore guilt and whether it can play on my conscience enough to drive me back into a Quorn-fed existence. But these comments are futile. Why would I be so naive as to disregard how a living animal becomes a dinner? Also, why was the fact the pig was probably frolicking with his piggy mates two days ago supposed to have any emotional leverage? What am I supposed to prefer? If a dead pig being carried into a butchers to be separated, sold and consumed, I’d rather it was alive a couple of days ago than it being delivered after a month long grieving period afforded to its piggy contemporaries. On the other end of the spectrum, I would rather it be ready killed when carried into the butchers, rather than hearing it’s curdling squeals through the walls as I’m trying to leaf through a shelf of literary gems.
Later in the evening, I came over with a slightly dicky tummy which forced me to stay in, when I really wanted to be out with my friends celebrating the bank holiday. Maybe this is some sort of irony, satirically bought on by the symbolism of a rotting pig carcass?
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