Big bangs and crackers
It’s fireworks time and an ancient Chinese legacy is putting the snap, crackle, and pop back in our lives. Revel in the delicious excitement as rockets zip around the sky in an explosive phantasmagoria and enjoy the unrestrained danger of holding a sparkler. Nothing says ‘celebration’ like scared kiddies walking around burning themselves as adults comment, “See isn’t this fun?” and “Don’t put that near your sister’s hair.”
An educated guess says I’m not the only one on this island to have experienced the ‘crack and thump’ of a live round being fired past the head, or felt the ear-splitting resonance of a burst of machine gun fire. Can we have a show of hands? A fireworks display this week brought back the heart palpitations that only a good explosive burst can induce. Looking about at awestruck faces, the thought occurred that many people in the surrounding houses may still feel a little lurch in the stomach every time a firecracker explodes.
A recent quote from some bemused or confused individual asked whether or not they would be condoning terrorism by attending a Guy Fawkes celebration. Somewhere in the world people are chain sawing down ancient chestnut trees in case the conkers conk someone, and removing visitors from hospital nurseries for cooing over babies and thereby bruising the wee mites’ dignity. “Get a life” should be sufficient comment for all of the above. November 5 was the day they discovered Guy ‘No Mates’ Fawkes and the 36 barrels of gunpowder stashed in the cellars of the House of Lords. Bonfires were lit all over England to celebrate that the King was safe but the villain wasn’t. So no, it’s not condoning terrorism, but celebrating its ‘defeat’. Note that today the reigning monarch enters the British parliament only once a year on the State Opening and custom has it that the Yeomen of the Guard search the cellars of the Palace of Westminster. This has been going on for four hundred years now. Is this what Tony Blair means by not letting acts of terrorism control our lives? Perhaps closer to home: when does collective paranoia become so entrenched we start calling it tradition?
In the spirit of loud bangs and killing, the hunting season has begun in Cyprus. I accompanied two seasoned hunters on an expedition to get ourselves something for dinner. A lot of time was spent quietly weaving through bushes and trees – causing much consternation among nearby picnickers. Our game was the giant panda. Concerns were raised regarding the ethics of hunting this animal when there are only 1,000 left in the world (these were coolly brushed aside). I suggested that perhaps it might be difficult to bag ourselves a giant panda when there weren’t any on the island of Cyprus (contradictory evidence was offered in the form of a half-chewed pine cone). Boldly I ventured that a pop-gun may not be as effective as anticipated in bringing down the beast so we retired to the swings to eat jam sandwiches). So the giant panda lives another day, to frolic and gambol freely around Athalassa park…
There seems to be some Asian subtext here; fireworks, pandas and the dreaded lurgy that is striking fear into the hearts of poultry lovers everywhere. What a rough start to the colder months for the poor chickens, coming down with the flu. Aww bless. People running around like ahem, headless chickens, worrying about vaccines, when often it is the simple solutions which work the best. Someone should volunteer to rub a little menthol into those feathery chests and tuck them up with a good book. Now is maybe the time to take a closer look at what we eat, and hormone-pumped chickens are a good place to start. Does it seem unnatural to anyone else to consume a creature with larger breasts than Jordan? It’s not just chickens though. I was talking to a pubescent vegan the other day who was complaining, in his deep voice, about how much he hated shaving. It must be tough – he is only seven. If adding a small amount of hormone makes the product a little bit bigger… then whoa nelly, what would a huge amount of growth hormone do!? How very scientific and not the least bit disconcerting.
But let’s be rational. There are, of course, hormone and avian influenza free options. One can enjoy a box of rice crackers for example, or just as tasty, a pine cone. Also bear in mind that no poorly chickens have yet made it to these shores, and should they do so then you are currently free to go and hunt something more robust. It is certainly not my intention to send the wrong message here. We don’t want to encourage any collective paranoia…
