Anglofille Has Moved!

Sweetie darlings, I have kissed Blogger goodbye. Please visit my new home:

http://www.anglofille.com

All of my insane rantings have been transferred over to my new digs, but I will keep my Blogger site in place because other blogs/websites have linked to me here.

And BTW, why didn’t anyone tell me that Google owns Blogger?! So much for my boycott of all things Google. I’m not leaving Blogger for that reason, though I am glad to be free of Google’s evil clutches…

My Sister Is Mean

She read my previous post about missing Easter candy and her first thought wasn't to send her dear sister some chocolate over in London. No, she sent this photo of herself instead:

Covent Garden Calling

I went out for a walk this afternoon and I was pleasantly surprised to find that the Godless heathens in Covent Garden were open for business. While my neighborhood is boarded up like South Florida in hurricane season, the Garden was hopping.

Of course, I had to go shopping. I wandered into a store on Monmouth Street that looked cute and Parisian from the outside, but inside was some sort of hard-core bondage/dominatrix boutique. Ahem. Moving on, I bought a tube of Kiehl's Lip Balm #1 (the best!) and then stopped in Neal's Yard for some dairy-free ice cream (the only kind I can eat, boo hoo). This was probably the highlight of my weekend, such rich, soft and creamy "ice cream." And to whoever pioneered the concept of vegan soft-serve ice cream, can I just say -- Dude, you rock.

London is a Ghost Town

The weather was absolutely gorgeous today and I went out for a nice stroll. As I suspected, it seems this entire country has shut down until Tuesday. In my neighbourhood, the streets are virtually empty and almost everything is closed – except for Tesco, natch. Most convenience stores are closed, which is strange. The whole point of convenience stores is that they stay open all the time. And 99 percent of the pubs I passed were closed up. I didn’t think that Britons ever passed up a chance to get sloshed, so color me surprised.

Over in yonder U.S., almost everything is open on Friday, Saturday and Monday of this holiday period. Many restaurants, grocery stories and movie theatres will also be open on Easter Sunday. When I had a proper job, I never had Good Friday or the day after Easter off from work. Schools do shut down for a few days, but under the euphemism “Spring Recess.”

Today on my walk, I was passed by those double-decker tour buses filled with tourists, including Americans who are probably shocked that everything will be closed for the next four days. It’s strange being in a country that has no separation of Church and State, and whose commercial sector observes Christian holidays in such a way. While the sacred tenet of the separation of Church and State is only hanging on by a thread Stateside (unless the masses rise up), I’m thankful it’s still there in theory. I do think it’s sad, however, that Americans never seem to take a break from working. Most businesses would probably close on Friday and/or Monday if they weren’t so damn greedy.

Playboy Destroyed

Apparently, the new Indonesian version of Playboy is not going over too well. Though the bimbos who fill the pages of the magazine’s first issue are fully clothed, Playboy's offices have been attacked and the staff has gone into hiding.

From the AP: “This is all part of a conspiracy aimed at destroying Islam through the moral corruption of its younger generation,” said Mohamad Jamil, a protest organizer. “Therefore, there is no other choice than to destroy Playboy.”

Let’s just hope they don’t open a Victoria’s Secret at the Jakarta Mall.

Film Review: Inside Man

Memo to Spike Lee: You should be tried at The Hague for cinematic crimes against womanity! How could you make a film with Clive Owen and then cover up that gorgeous face for over half the show? Why do you think women like me go to movies starring Clive Owen? I don’t care that he played a bank robber and needed to wear a mask. We could have just imagined him wearing it. You could have flashed a message at the bottom of the screen that said “Picture Clive in a Mask Right Now.” That would have worked fine. You should be glad I don’t know where you live.

Funnily enough, Clive still looked sexy, even in a mask.

As you probably guessed, I went to see Inside Man. Despite the aforementioned travesty, I must admit that Hollywood popcorn movies do not get much better than this. Denzel Washington was great in this movie, as was Jodie Foster. Because this is a film full of twists and surprises, I really can’t write much about it. While it’s primarily escapist entertainment, Lee (in his first “Hollywood” film) adds political asides here and there, mostly to do with racial politics. I especially liked the scene about violent video games and how they are mind poison for kids.

The beginning and the end of the film are set to very loud Bollywood music, which is lovely as music, but a little strange for this movie. But enough of that – now back to Clive. His attempt to speak in an American accent only earns him a C-. It was almost as bad as Natalie Portman’s mangled English accent in V for Vendetta, though nothing could be quite as bad as that. But as for his overall performance in the film? A+, of course. I’m grading on a curve.

Closer Magazine: Journalism’s Finest

Once in a while I buy the weekly magazine Closer, which is filled with paparazzi shots of drunken celebrities throwing up in gutters and the likes of Kate Moss covered in zits. And really, who doesn’t like to look at that kind of stuff? The ragazine is also filled with the worst kind of real-life horror stories you can imagine, but the headlines are just hilarious. Here is a sampling of the most recent issue I read:

Best celebrity gossip:

“Look at Charl’s Ga-Vain Boyo!”

Charlotte Church’s boyfriend, rugby star Gavin Henson, describes how he prepares for a game: “It takes me two hours to get ready – hot bath, shave my legs and face, moisturise, put fake tan on and do my hair.”

Poor Charlotte. She doesn’t realize she’s dating a drag queen.

These are real headlines:

“I Bought a New Vagina for My Husband”

“My Head Blew Up and My Skin Fell Off”

“My Fiancé Booked Me in for a Boob Op!”

“The Family From Hell: Leanne, 14, Drink Drives and Her Mum Moons in Public”

And the award for the most dramatic sub-head goes to:

Doctors at the Royal College of Obstetricians and Gynaecologists have said that infants born under 25 weeks should be allowed to die, to avoid “blocking” intensive care cots. If they had their way, Lizzie’s son Edward might not have lived. [insert evil laugh]

And here are two headlines from the next issue:

“Tranny Nanny Stole Our Kids”

“Forced to Eat Dog Food by Evil Mum”

Can you believe this magazine only costs £1?

Violence Against Women = Terrorism

The Guardian newspaper interviewed acclaimed American feminist Catherine MacKinnon about her new book, called Are Women Human? Here is an excerpt from the Guardian piece:

MacKinnon's book ends with a wonderful rhetorical essay called Women's September 11. It points out that roughly the same number of women are murdered by men in the US each year as were killed in the Twin Towers (between 2,800 and 3,000). But those killings provoked no parallel war on terror.

So what does MacKinnon think should be done? She writes that violence against women "qualifies as a casus belli and a form of terrorism every bit as much as the events of September 11 do". Is she serious that violence against women should be treated as a war? "I think only because it's men doing it against women that it isn't seen as a war."

America Invades England!

Two of my fellow expat bloggers in London, Jen and Vol, have written about a recent Financial Times article that discusses the large number of American immigrants to the UK. Americans even outnumber Bangladeshis! As of 2001, there were 155,000 US-born people living in Britain – and this doesn’t take into account the hordes of American students that take up residence here temporarily and drive everyone crazy. (This doesn’t include me, of course.)

The Financial Times article is only available via subscription so I haven’t been able to read the whole thing. But if they had interviewed me, I would have said the main reason there are so many Yanks here is because Americans are too lazy to learn a foreign language. So if you want to move to Europe and remain monolingual, well, you don’t have many choices. As for me, I’m learning French (she added cryptically). Seriously, though, I do think the lack of a language barrier is the main attraction. Americans are lazy and our school system sucks. Next stop, London!

Random Thoughts Before Bed

I have been at my computer for 14 hours straight. Deadline hell. My back hurts. My head hurts. Life is cruel.

I've been listening to my iPod all day. I rediscovered Vitalogy by Pearl Jam. This is a good album. Whatever happpened to Eddie Vedder? Is he still kicking around? Now that I'm over 30, music news doesn't penetrate my brain. (As evidenced by the fact that I still use the word "album.")

I read that Gwyneth Paltrow named her latest spawn Moses. Apple and Moses? Ridiculous. I realize I have a weird name too, and a Biblical one at that, but at least my name doesn't conjure up images of Charlton Heston.

Good night.

Abortion Pill Not to Blame

At least one of the two deaths recently attributed to the abortion pill RU-486 was caused by something else entirely, the FDA said today. The other death is still under investigation.

Not surprisingly, many in the right-wing were extremely happy to hear about these two deaths and didn’t bother to wait until the medical findings were released to practically gloat about the situation, which is disgusting. I just hope these recent findings are given as much press coverage as the original, erroneous reports. But I won't hold my breath.

Breaking News from Massachusetts

From the AP: "A prison officer faces punishment for showing the gay cowboy movie Brokeback Mountain to inmates at the state's largest prison, a corrections department spokeswoman said."

“I want to make it clear, it wasn't the subject matter — it was the graphic nature of the sexually explicit scenes."

I totally agree with this. Prisoners should be shielded from images of gay sex. It’s not like any of them have personal experience with it.

Peep Nation

Easter candy is my favourite holiday candy of the year. Christmas and Halloween don’t hold a candle to it. My favourites have traditionally been Cadbury Crème Eggs and Reese’s peanut butter eggs, though newer additions to the scene, such as Snickers eggs and Mounds eggs are also quite holy and divine. Bliss. I also eat a few Peeps (pictured) each year. They are disgusting, but devouring a marshmallow chick is required of every American.

Given that I’m supposed to abstain from dairy products, Easter candy can be dangerous. But this year, I have totally resisted temptation and I think it’s because there isn’t much Easter candy here. True, this is Cadbury headquarters, but Crème Eggs are for sale here all year round, as opposed to in the States, where the luscious darlings appear at Easter and then vanish, making them rare treats. The rest of the candy I listed is not for sale here anywhere that I have seen.

In American grocery stores, for every holiday, there is a whole aisle set aside to be filled with all sorts of goodies related to that holiday, mostly candy and decorations. You cannot go grocery shopping in America right now without walking down a pastel-coloured aisle filled with Easter baskets and plastic green grass and Peeps and Reese’s eggs and…god, I’m making myself hungry. Perhaps such supermarkets exist outside of London. Perhaps people out in Crumpetville, UK, are stuffing themselves with Peeps right now. If so, I'm jealous.

Really, what I’m trying to say is, I would kill for a Reese’s peanut butter egg. I know, I know, a Reese’s peanut butter cup is similar, but it’s just not the same.

Newsmaker of the Week

This distinguished honor goes to Attallah Abu al-Sibbah, the new Palestinian culture minister installed by Hamas. Here are a few quotes from him, as reported in the Guardian:

“If the phenomenon of bellydancing spreads our people might react against it by killing people. We don't want our people to become like the Taliban.”

“…We're not going to allow books with any pictures of Madonna in bed.”

“Hollywood is not all bad. Titanic was a good film, a human film.”

Um, okay.

City of London Walk

I went for another long walk today. Four miles. I walked from Bloomsbury down through Holborn, down Fleet Street, past St. Paul’s and to the City (London’s version of lower Manhattan).

I intend for these walks to be vigorous exercise, so I wear workout clothes. But I wonder if I should rethink this. Walking around today in black leggings, pink Timberland tennis shoes and my Graceland t-shirt, I sorta looked like a bag lady compared to all the business people in the financial district. (A bag lady listening to an iPod.) No one threw any cash my way and if they had, I probably would have kept it. Still, I’m not sure how to make myself more presentable while also being comfortable enough to work up a sweat. In addition, I wonder how much pollution I’m inhaling into my lungs? It’s probably better that I don't know.

I was walking without any real sense of where I was going and I ended up outside the freaky skyscraper that looks like an Easter egg. The building sits at 30 St. Mary Axe. People refer to it as the “Gherkin" and other more obscene names. Up until today, I’ve only seen this building from afar. My opinion has been that it’s a blotch on the London skyline. I still hold this view, but I must admit that up close, it’s a beautiful structure (and surprisingly skinny). It’s a new building, London’s first environmentally sustainable skyscraper. It sits on the site of the former Baltic Exchange, which was bombed by the IRA in 1992. I guess the Exchange was structurally damaged to such an extent that it was necessary to build something new on the site. Such a monstrous building was given the green light because it is not in the “sight line” of St. Paul’s dome when viewed from specific locations around London.

London Scenes: April 6, 2006

I have had the most invigorating afternoon. I’ve been awaiting the arrival of spring so I can begin to explore the city on foot. I arrived here in mid-September and by the time I got settled in, the days were short and the weather was cold – no fun for exploring. I’ve been waiting in vain for the weather to warm up, but it’s still in the low 50s (Fahrenheit, obviously. Celsius is beyond my realm of comprehension.). So today I decided to just take the plunge and get moving (I actually had to dust off my sunglasses). I want to do several long walks each week as a way to see different parts of London and also get the exercise I desperately need. This afternoon, my step counter registered 6.5 miles – not bad!

I tread a familiar path today, from Russell Square down through Holborn and Kingsway to the Thames. I walked along Victoria Embankment, past the Houses of Parliament and down to Lambeth Bridge, then back through St. James’s Park and Green Park, where I caught the tube home. Here are a few memorable images:

Bad news:

Cute flower stall:

Protestors across the street from Parliament. One woman carrying a sparkly purple sign that said “Bliar” Is A War Criminal was suddenly surrounded by the police. Not sure why:

Clive Owen on the side of a bus. Not as tasty as Clive in the flesh (I’m imagining), but a fresh drink of water nonetheless:

A sea of daffodils in St. James’s Park. Totally exhilarating. Better for my mental health than hours of therapy (not that I can afford therapy here):

And finally, my favourite moment of the day, a zaftig squirrel that actually posed for me:


I hope you enjoyed these photos. I felt like a real dork taking them. I mean, chasing after a double-decker bus to take a photo of a movie poster is pretty lame. Most tourists wouldn't even sink that low.

Tesco-as-Hell Explained

It’s funny, but I’ve been doing this blog since last September and I can never predict which stories will interest people. I wouldn’t have thought that my one-sentence Tesco rant would inspire people to e-mail me for more details.

The reason I hate/loathe/despise the Tesco Express in Russell Square is because….how to put this…okay, I’ve got it. Imagine you are sitting at home watching TV. An urgent news bulletin flashes on the screen, stating that in 10 minutes, the world will run out of food. Anyone who doesn’t go grocery shopping right that instant will starve to death. Now imagine what your local grocery store would look like after such an announcement. Are you picturing it? Good. This is what Tesco Express Russell Square is like every single day.

My local Tesco is a just a mini outpost of the grocery mega-chain, hence the “express” label. Unfortunately, there is no full-service grocery store in the immediate vicinity. If you want a big store, you have to hike down to the Sainsbury’s at Holborn or the big Tesco near Tottenham Court Road. This is not very convenient when you just want some eggs or paper towels. So this little Tesco is always completely mobbed with people. It would be bad enough if only local residents shopped there, but noooooooo. There are tons of hotels and hostels in this neighbourhood, so there’s never a shortage of Australians with backpacks the size of Bolivia trying to fit down the narrow aisles or Germans screaming at each other at the Krispy Kreme display. On top of that, it seems as if every single person who comes out of the Russell Square tube station heads right for Tesco.

A crowded grocery store is bad enough, but is it really necessary for people to push and shove and fight over food as if we’re in the midst of a famine? Why is it necessary to behave that way? Are we in Calcutta or Bloomsbury? Honestly, when you’re inside Tesco, it’s impossible to tell. And let’s not forget the woman who decides that the Tesco experience is not miserable enough already, no, she must bring a stroller/pram inside with her and then expect a bunch of angry (and apparently starving) people to move to the side to let her pass as she circles the aisles 60 or 70 times while only putting one or two things in her basket. People leave their dogs tied up outside next to the homeless dude. Strollers (with or without babies!) belong there as well.

So I hope this clears up why I think my local Tesco is the gateway to Hell. Oh, and did I mention I was in a bad mood today? Perhaps that’s obvious.

Warning of the Day

The Tesco Express across the street from the Russell Square tube station is central London's portal to Hell.

Escape to the British Museum

Spring break started on Monday and lasts for a whole month (yet another reason to become a college professor). I think they should rename it “Spring” break because it’s freezing outside. Spring? I don’t think so.

This month-long holiday from school will have little effect on me, since I’ll continue to be swamped with work. The past few weeks have been nightmarish. Today I forced myself away from the computer and walked over to the British Museum. (If I still lived in Massachusetts, I probably would have gone to unnamed chain bookstore. Ah, London!)

Though I live a mere 10-minute walk away from the British Museum and stroll past it regularly, I haven’t gone inside the place since the last time I lived in London in the late nineties. Personally, I prefer art museums. And now that the British Library has been relocated to St. Pancras, I just didn’t feel the need to go inside. I’m such a jaded bitch.

I like the renovations inside the museum, particularly the new and stunning Great Court (pictured), a lovely town square covered with a glass ceiling. And the Reading Room – where Marx wrote Das Capital – is as breathtaking as ever. The museum, however, was a mob scene. It was so loud inside that even my iPod couldn’t drown out the chattering tourists. Aren't museums supposed to be quiet or is that just libraries? I had to escape the Greek and Roman and Egyptian plunder and head for the Europe rooms upstairs, where it was much more peaceful. I’d rather look at Renaissance dishes and cameos and religious amulets than broken-up Greek statues and mummies anyway. I know, I’m a freak. Sue me.

The Wacky World of Brit TV

The great thing about British telly is that the networks don’t really seem to give a damn if people watch. There are sometimes spectacular BBC literary adaptations or original films, but most of the time you’d be amazed at the junk that’s broadcast here. When I got here last September I watched a lot of television because it was a novelty. Now I rarely watch anything besides DVDs.

Still, the fact that English television is a more down-home affair, not super slick and corporate like American television, is a good thing. For example, on Saturday night, Channel 4 (a commercial network) aired the British Book Awards. Can you imagine a show about books being broadcast on network TV in the States? It would never happen. On cable, C-Span makes an effort, but cable stations are required to carry the commercial-free and serious C-Span. Stateside, if something doesn’t appeal to the brain-dead 18 to 24-year-old demographic, forget about it.

The British Book Awards were hosted by chat show hosts and husband-and-wife team Richard & Judy (who I must admit I like – guilty pleasure. They host an extremely popular Oprah-style book club on their show.) Saturday’s gala wasn’t the Booker Awards, as evidenced by cookbook author Jamie Oliver's award for achievement of the year. And of course, Harry Potter won best book of the year. How unexpected! Still, it was fun to watch, especially as an American, because it’s so rare to see popular culture embrace anything to do with books. Presenters included white-trash reality TV star Chantal, Kelly Osborne, Rupert Everett and Lauren Bacall. And not all the winners were pop culture dredge. Audrey Niffenegger won an award for her novel The Time Traveler’s Wife and a few other literary authors were thrown a bone as well.

So once again, bravo to the English for showing a real appreciation for books and the literary life.

South Dakota Restricts Men’s Rights

I am no fan of South Dakota, given their recent legislation outlawing abortion in almost every instance, including rape and incest. But one must give credit where credit is due. The state is clearly feeling the wrath of angry Americans, which is why they have now passed sweeping legislation restricting men’s reproductive freedoms, particularly when it comes to vasectomy.

“No, we are not misogynists here in the great state of South Dakota,” said Republican State Senator Chuck Normandy. “These new laws will prove that. We oppress everyone equally.”

Here are a few of the new laws, all of which will surely be challenged in the courts:

Childless men who seek vasectomies will be shown a series of computer-generated images, illustrating what their potential children might look like. After being presented with the images, men must wait at least 48 hours before having a vasectomy.

Under the new condom conscience clause, pharmacists and retail employees can now refuse to sell condoms if it violates their religious beliefs.

Married men must seek written permission from their wives before a vasectomy.

Men who are physically or emotionally abused by their wives and seek vasectomies will not be given special treatment. If their wives do not sign the permission form, the men must remain fertile. If they do not want to father children with these women, they should just keep their pants zipped.

A man who is raped by a woman who then becomes pregnant as a result of that rape will have to pay child support, unless he agrees to marry the woman. However, if the man was a young Christian virgin at the time of the rape and the rape was particularly brutal, State Senator Bill Napoli might be able to make an exception.

A 1999 law barring protests outside clinics that perform vasectomies has been overturned. It is now legal for religious groups to picket such clinics and to target male patients by screaming obscene threats, such as “You c—ks—ing motherf—ers are going to burn in hell,” and things of that Christian nature.

Members of the clergy who advocate violence against doctors who perform vasectomies will not be prosecuted. Their non-profit status will not be in jeopardy.

Members of the media and anti-vasectomy groups are now encouraged to say that vasectomies cause testicular cancer and male pattern baldness, even though there is no evidence to back this up.

A vasectomy gag-rule has now been put into place. Doctors receiving federal funds will not be allowed to discuss vasectomies with their male patients, even if the men ask about it.

No vasectomy can be performed within 10 miles of a school, a church or a Wal-Mart.


…april fools…

Website of the Day

I am swamped with work today, so I thought I would feature the website of The Cloud Appreciation Society. Apparently, this website has quite a cult following. As the name states, it is about clouds and their admirers. Some of the images on this site are stunning. And it offers a fun way to kill time when you're supposed to be working. There's a whole section on cloud shapes, such as this heart cloud:

Anita Roddick: Sell Out

I am finally getting around to writing about this story. Britain’s most famous businesswoman, Anita Roddick, sold her groundbreaking business The Body Shop to French cosmetics giant L’Oreal in mid-March. The Body Shop was a pioneer, selling eco-friendly products that were never tested on animals. Much of the news coverage of the sale has focused on the dismay of animal rights activists, who do not believe L’Oreal’s claims to be animal-testing free

Besides the disappointment of seeing a once-principled business owner succumb to an unethical, soulless mega-corporation, the sale is a bummer for women. Roddick frequently criticized the way the beauty industry manipulates women. Only a few years ago, she criticized L’Oreal for only employing “sexy” women at its cosmetics counters. The Body Shop rarely used models in their ads, shunning skeletal supermodels for feminist-friendly adverts, like this one:


Now look at a typical L’Oreal ad (this one featuring the familiar motif of the model silencing herself):

Most observers were very surprised that Roddick sold The Body Shop, a business she had nurtured for 30 years. It does not appear that the business was in trouble. Instead, good old-fashioned greed appears to have been the motive. Roddick, as quoted in the Guardian: “‘Let me tell you how the French seduce you,’ she told a press conference. ‘They are the most bloody seductive people on earth. They are charming, they are well-mannered and they praise and flatter you.’” I’m sure the £130 million she stood to gain personally didn’t hurt.

In announcing the sale, Roddick said that L’Oreal will embrace the ideals of The Body Shop. Sure, and next week, KFC will embrace the ideals of PETA. Said Roddick: “...having L'Oréal come in and say we like you, we like your ethics, we want to be part of you, we want you to teach us things, it's a gift. I'm ecstatic about it. So I don't see it as selling out."

This is just sad. Anyone, and I mean anyone, who knows about the cosmetics industry knows that this is a complete load of you-know-what. A savvy businesswoman like Anita Roddick surely knows it. How do you say sell out in French?

My Baby Daddy

My recent post on sperm got me to thinking. If I don’t meet Mr. Right (or Mr. Uh, I Guess So) in the next few years, I might need to cash in my gift certificate to the Celebrity Sperm Bank. I swear, you can spend hours looking through their catalogue. I have narrowed down my selection to two choices:

Donor A

Donor B

I’m leaning towards Donor B because I have some concerns about Donor A. If my child were a boy, I could end up with a womanizing, telephone-throwing Australian brat on my hands, and really, who has time for that? Granted, I don’t know much about Donor B, but he doesn’t seem like the type to start bar brawls or have affairs with the likes of Meg Ryan.

I must admit that I did also consider Tom Cruise’s sperm (it was on clearance). I know, I know, he’s a brainwashed cult member. But I saw Top Gun about 15 times in 1986, as did most American chicas my age, and so there will always be a soft spot in my heart for Tommy. But it looks like that bitch Katie Holmes got injected with the last of his seed.

So I guess I’ll have to settle for the sperm of a smouldering heterosexual instead. Life could be worse.

Canada's Shame

I was having a pretty good day today until I went out and saw this picture on the front page of the Sunday Mirror:


What is this picture, you say? Well, it’s a big strong man – beating a defenseless baby seal to death with a club while it screams in agony. Is that what real manly men do? Apparently so, in Canada at least.

The petition I wrote about a few days ago didn’t work, obviously. I’m not an idiot. I was 99.9% sure it wouldn’t work. But that’s not the point. The reason such things don’t work is because most people shrug their shoulders and say, “Oh, that’ll never work, why bother?” Collective apathy is the norm nowadays. The politicians count on it.

It seems the international outcry only strengthened Canada’s resolve. As a result, they increased the quota of seals that can be killed. If you have a toddler or have ever babysat one, you are familiar with this tactic. You tell the child to eat their peas and they refuse. You threaten them and in the middle of the resulting tantrum, they throw the peas on the floor and scream “You can’t tell me what to do!” It’s simple psychology, really.

Below (in blue), some excerpts from the Sunday Mirror, regarding the seal slaughter:

"The hunters are supposed to club them three times over the head, then touch their eyeball to make sure they are dead before being skinned…[the seal is] a battered heap, waiting for the skinners who follow the hunters. Blood runs from its wounds and its mouth. The force of the blows has forced its eyes from its sockets. I turn away only to catch out of the corner of my eye the sudden movement of a bloody shape. A seasoned hunter will you tell this is just a death spasm. Some vets, however, think differently. According to one report, as many as 40 per cent of seal pups could still be alive when they are skinned. This one is wriggling and writhing in agony, as it is dragged along, leaving a crimson trail. The hunters lift it, still thrashing, aboard their boat to skin out of sight of our camera."
…

"Today, the pups' freshly-skinned carcasses, still steaming from their body heat, litter the ice. Their mothers lie beside them, pining for their dead babies, their mournful bleating carried in the cold air.

Nothing prepares you for such a sickening spectacle.

They call it a hunt, of course, to make it sound like a noble challenge between man and beast. But a harp seal can't run like a fox, it has nowhere to hide like a deer in a forest, it can't fight back like a grizzly. It just lies there, helplessly waiting to be slaughtered."

Hey, I’ve got an idea. Next year, why don’t these macho Canadian hunters beat polar bears to death with a club? Imagine that scene! Now there’s something I’d like to see on the front of the Sunday Mirror.