Happy Friday, dear readers. Another week has come and gone and, while the weather outside finally seems to be warming up, the political climate has begun to turn decidedly chilly. Now our defence secretary says “the Russians should go away and shut up”. Nothing to see here, just a bunch of mature adults.
This week in charity sector satire: Peta activists get booed by Tory dog enthusiasts at Crufts, the National Trust has been savaged yet again by the press and possibly the most ‘fundraising’ thing ever has happened in Brixton.
Dog-piled
Where you last Sunday evening, dear reader and what were you doing? This column was, and there’s no shame in this, settling down on the sofa with a brew and waiting for the Crufts best in show to be awarded. The veritable piece de resistance of the Kennel Club’s three-day dogstravaganza that is Crufts – the “World’s Greatest Dog Show” according to, well, Crufts.
The seven dogs from the seven different categories had been assembled. They’d been run around the little astroturf ring. They’d been poked and prodded by the judge. The crowd had fallen to a hush – broken briefly by groans when it was announced that the judge would be declaring the runner up dog before the winner which, as any Crufts-enthusiast will know, flies in the face of tradition and, being really honest, what else does this country have going for it at the moment except its strict adherence to tradition? – and then the judge pointed at the little Scottish lady and her handsome (whippet?) and there was clapping and the dog podium was rolled out with the giant cup on it and the other dogs were ushered slowly away and the cameras swooped in, and Clare Balding was on the move and then, suddenly:
There’s a lot to unpack here, really. A man and a woman, both from animal rights organisation Peta, suddenly burst from behind the flimsily constructed barrier at the edge of the show ring and, unfurling A4 pieces of paper which were, to be honest, barely legible, gambolled in front of the cameras in an attempt to draw national media attention to what it believes to be the evils of the Kennel Club and pedigree dog breeding in general.
Essentially, Peta believe that Crufts celebrates animal eugenics when it comes to its pedigree breeding standards. Now, that is in many ways an interesting argument, and one that goes far deeper than can be truly unpacked in this column. But, on a purely visceral television level, these were amazing scenes.
For one thing, Crufts security sprang into action. Men, giant slabs of men, dressed all in red and black, flew from every corner and, quite literally, rode one of the protesters – a relatively weedy looking man in a grey shirt with cornrows – to the ground. All the while the crowd rumbled with discontent, opprobrium even, that anyone had dared to tarnish their precious, perfect dog show.
Yvette Short, the owner of the delightfully named Collooney Tartan Tease, the winning whippet, clutched protectively at her prize-winning hound; a man in a dinner jacket wearing crisp white gloves swooped to protect the trophy and, due to television regulations, Channel 4 cut away from the furore back to Clare Balding, ringside, one finger in her ear, looking like she was reporting from a warzone directly into a microphone that didn’t work. By the time someone had handed her a second microphone, order had been restored and the protesters were being dragged from the arena, trussed like hogs for the spit.
Peta later released a statement which said: "Breeding pedigree dogs in abnormal shapes and sizes leaves them with genetic predispositions to epilepsy, heart disease, deafness, hip dysplasia, and numerous other health problems,” particularly citing problems found in the breeding of bulldogs and pugs.
That is as may be, but this column finds it hard to sympathise too much with an organisation that has just spent the last two years dragging a photographer through various courtrooms on behalf of a monkey who may (but almost certainly didn’t) take a picture of itself.
Speaking of things we hold dear…
Cornish lambasty
On Sunday the Independent ran a splash which read: “National Trust forced to apologise over ‘disgusting’ cream tea advert” and, as it always does whenever the media sinks its teeth into the National Trust, this column’s cold, black heart fluttered a little with a feeling that most closely resembled what the rest of you people call ‘joy’.
Yes, it seems that a National Trust site in Cornwall – important fact to remember here – has caused social media outrage over a post it made regarding its Mother’s Day cream teas.
“Lanhydrock in Cornwall posted to Facebook about their cream teas, choice of sandwich and mini-eclairs ahead of mothering Sunday,” said the Independent. “However followers were quick to lambast the advert – accusing the National Trust of committing a cardinal Cornish sin.”
Yep, whoever did the Facebook post at the NT site in Lanhydrock added a photograph which showed a scone with cream on first and jam on top. ARE YOU MAD, LANYHDROCK NATIONAL TRUST? I THOUGHT THIS WAS CORNWALL, NOT DEVON!
Depressingly, although perhaps not surprisingly, people got really wound up about this. A number of people on Facebook wrote that the picture was “disgusting” with one social media user writing: ““It’s discustin’ … cream first? I thought Lanhydrock was in Cornwall, not Devon. I’m offended and I’m fummin … I DEMAND an end to this sort of thing.” [Sic sic sic]
Another woman wrote: “What is this blasphemy? Disgusting! I demand a retraction and an apology!!! And sack the dirty Devonshire infiltrator who masterminded this outrageous corruption!!”
Lanhydrock NT did eventually issue a full apology and have posted a picture of a #JamFirst badge, to try and reinforce its shattered bona fide Cornish credentials.
Team @LanhydrockNT will be sporting these tomorrow #jamfirst #sconegate #jamhydrock pic.twitter.com/YzCdDChz0J
— Lanhydrock (@LanhydrockNT) March 10, 2018
This column is vaguely reminded that Jonathan Swift, almost three hundred years ago, penned a satire in which two kingdoms went to war over which end of a boiled egg you should crack with a spoon.
Fortunately we here in England have moved on and no longer engaged in that kind of xenophobic denigration of the customs of our neighbours, and are now tolerant of the foibles of others.
Wait, no, that's nonsense.
Hygge me a break
So apparently for the unenlighted among you, 'hygge' is now a thing. It's a Danish word for the warm glow you get when you do something which Diary, frankly, has never done.
No, not that. What we're getting at here is the warm feeling from being extra nice and pleasant to someone for no really good reason, as charity people are wont to do.
It's the kind of thing that nice-as-pie millennials love to specialise in, and to cater for these dubious individuals, a ‘House of Hygge’ charity fundraising coffee lounge and “event space” has opened in Brixton.
Nothing quite says south London gentrification quite like an old plumbers’ offices being turned into a ‘House of Hygge’ coffee lounge and event space.
Brixton Buzz said: “Taking its name from the Danish word used to describe a special feeling, the café will support the Chartwell Cancer Trust, that funds children’s cancer support groups in South London, Croydon and North Kent”.
Good to know that the café has a “sister pop up shop next door” which sells a range of furniture, pictures, paintings, books and “objet d’ art”. Tres bon!
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