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| migrating sardines |
Walking home the other day on a rare sunny evening, not that
it’s summer or anything, I realised I was wearing black from head to toe. I’m
not sure when the conscious thought came to mind but it suddenly dawned on me
unbidden and mundanely that I was not dressed in summery attire. There I was
walking down the hill looking at nothing in particular because there was
nothing of note to capture my attention except the usual chavvy trash with the
rather talented potty mouths yelling at each other, when I had that eureka
moment of very little import to the rest of humankind. It’s no big deal, it’s a
boring fact but there it is – it seems I wear black even in June. But then June
has thus far been a shameful example to its hosting season. Is it surprising I’m
fashionably challenged right now? Summer
here has so far been rather damp and unimpressive. So churlish you would
consider throwing several squibs at the grey, colourless sky just to spite it;
or at least to make yourself feel better: constant clouds that I love to hate
and wish would make their cumulus-selves more useful in REAL drought faring
countries! The next ass to declare drought in the UK will be met with the
deadliest telekinetic thought I can muster. I have yet to see a duck sweat in
this so-called summer season. Have you ever seen a bird sweat in the heat? No,
neither have I. I’m sure it’s not a commonly sought pastime, although I’d
rather that than experience stinking human trolls on public transport. Still,
the fact remains that I was wearing black. And I think that this unconscious
preference is symptomatic of my state of mind.
Medvedenko: Why do you always wear black?
Masha: I’m in mourning for my life. I’m unhappy.
Is this what I am feeling? Is my wearing the dark garb the slippery
road to gothic, sullen angst? Am I not too old for this kind of nonsense? Well,
I’m at an impasse I think. It’s time to re-evaluate the old life path. It’s not
unhappiness or depression or anything like that, it’s far worse, it’s insane
boredom. I am so bored I could eat my socks. My focus is a blur and the
optometrist has left the building. So what did I do today to make myself feel
less bored? I watched something that made me think: eat or get eaten. Never,
ever watch a BBC wildlife documentary and be taken in by David Attenborough’s
dulcet narration because you will see nature at its most gruesome. You will see
things get eaten by other things and you will start wondering whether life is
really just about the menu and who is actually up for the main course.
I always root for the underdog. I will automatically dislike
anything (I don’t care how hungry) that goes after the poor sucker running, swimming
or flying for its life. I don’t care how illogical and totally ridiculous that
may sound seeing as this is what nature is all about in part, it’s just the way
I felt today. In today’s Great Events in Nature it was the ‘sardine run’ in
focus. The little silver unassuming fish had every aquatic predator chasing
them and lunging into their defensive bait balls to feed on them. Swallowed
whole I tell you, without so much as being given the courtesy of a chew and a
taste before the ignominy of sliding down a gullet.
Every few years these amazing little fish: the sort you will
usually buy tinned in oil or occasionally from the fishmonger looking limp and
well behaved, will migrate. Rather than I bore you to tears with the facts I’ll
let Wiki do it:
“The sardine run of southern Africa occurs from May
through July when billions of sardines – or more specifically the Southern African pilchard Sardinops
sagax – spawn in the cool waters of the Agulhas
Bank and move northward along the east coast of South
Africa. Their sheer numbers create a feeding
frenzy along the coastline. The run, containing millions of individual
sardines, occurs when a current of cold water heads north from the Agulhas Bank
up to Mozambique
where it then leaves the coastline and goes further east into the Indian
Ocean.”
For a sardine it was like participating in the restaurant
from hell. It was a fish horror bloodbath! Sushi on the menu for all
freeloaders: Gannets, sharks, dolphins, humans – even a whale! Where are the
Japanese when you need them? (I jest of course) I’m sure Salmon could tell a few stories round a
watery campfire too about their migrations upriver. Not that any survive after
spawning – but in anthropomorphic terms they must think: - Screw it (a
contradiction)! I’m not spawning! Sex equals death. Ok, I’ve lost my mind...
So I’m at an impasse. I need to get out more and stop
watching Animal Planet and the Eden channels. As educational as these
programmes are and as much as I love natural history I need to stop wearing
black. It’s time I stopped mourning the fish and pull out a few colourful items
from my wardrobe. But then, this is UK weather we’re talking about here – not
much scope for colour is there?
