Let's talk about bovines. So what do we know about them? Yes, you in the front seat.
John Diefenbaker: They are large.
Correct. What else? Yes, you with the pony tails.
Lenny Kravitz: They give milk. Oh, and they have horns.
Ok, clearly I am working with insanely astute crowd. Why can you guys not be like my blog readers? They are smart, polite and ever so good looking. Anyways, bovines are large four legged creatures. Renowned for their abilities to congregate in large "herds", they are good sources of milk, meat and jackets/shoes. What people neglected to inform me prior to Ireland was that Cows do not voluntarily go to an abattoir and the meat is not surgically removed from them allowing them to continue a frolic-filled existence. Damn you people, why did you not support my delusions?
The first problem arose when I crossed the borders into the emerald isles. I discovered that the emeraldyness stopped when faced with the local cuisine. The food became predominantly meat oriented. This in itself never poses a great challenge for one so awesome as I, however, Enniskillen, where we stayed on a road called Killyvilly killed my desire for meat, forever.
Let me talk a bit about Enniskillen. Nestled in the heart of county Fermanagh, lies this depressing little burg. I have travelled to a fair number of places in this world. I adored the chaos of Delhi, I loved the "primal" nature of Algonquin Park, the gorgeousness of the Adirondacks, the swell of humanity in London. All those places had their downsides be it pooping in the dark imagining a bear around each shadow to mosquitoes (looking at you here, St. Lucia), from getting stranded due to trains being late, to a city grinding to a complete halt due to snow. But each and every occassion I have loved these places. In general, I have loved every place I have been to. I have memories stemming from each one, that are pleasurable and despite certain hardships, just bloody fantanstic.
Enniskillen, has no saving grace. None. I am sorry. No wait, the people were nice. I do like the people there. But take away the niceness of the people, you are left with nothing. The town has a feel of decay hanging over it, and is not helped by signs like this.
So we find ourselves, MT and I that is, in county Fermanagh, hungry as hell at around 6 in the evening. Venturing out in the wild of Enniskillen we find ourselves confronted with closed stores. Subway- closed, food stores- closed, ASDA - closed, the only places open, were a fish and chip store, a seedy pizza store, and a massive chinese buffet. It is here, that something snapped inside my head. I could not eat meat anymore. Every jiggling piece of flesh that was served in front of me, made me want to gag.
So here I sit, in a cafe in downtown Toronto, I can still say, I am now cured of meatatarianism with momentary relapses. It has been a long three weeks. Stupid, Killyvilly. I liked my beef burgers.
John Diefenbaker: They are large.
Correct. What else? Yes, you with the pony tails.
Lenny Kravitz: They give milk. Oh, and they have horns.
Ok, clearly I am working with insanely astute crowd. Why can you guys not be like my blog readers? They are smart, polite and ever so good looking. Anyways, bovines are large four legged creatures. Renowned for their abilities to congregate in large "herds", they are good sources of milk, meat and jackets/shoes. What people neglected to inform me prior to Ireland was that Cows do not voluntarily go to an abattoir and the meat is not surgically removed from them allowing them to continue a frolic-filled existence. Damn you people, why did you not support my delusions?
The first problem arose when I crossed the borders into the emerald isles. I discovered that the emeraldyness stopped when faced with the local cuisine. The food became predominantly meat oriented. This in itself never poses a great challenge for one so awesome as I, however, Enniskillen, where we stayed on a road called Killyvilly killed my desire for meat, forever.
Let me talk a bit about Enniskillen. Nestled in the heart of county Fermanagh, lies this depressing little burg. I have travelled to a fair number of places in this world. I adored the chaos of Delhi, I loved the "primal" nature of Algonquin Park, the gorgeousness of the Adirondacks, the swell of humanity in London. All those places had their downsides be it pooping in the dark imagining a bear around each shadow to mosquitoes (looking at you here, St. Lucia), from getting stranded due to trains being late, to a city grinding to a complete halt due to snow. But each and every occassion I have loved these places. In general, I have loved every place I have been to. I have memories stemming from each one, that are pleasurable and despite certain hardships, just bloody fantanstic.
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| Really? Is this the best Acronym you could come up with. |
So we find ourselves, MT and I that is, in county Fermanagh, hungry as hell at around 6 in the evening. Venturing out in the wild of Enniskillen we find ourselves confronted with closed stores. Subway- closed, food stores- closed, ASDA - closed, the only places open, were a fish and chip store, a seedy pizza store, and a massive chinese buffet. It is here, that something snapped inside my head. I could not eat meat anymore. Every jiggling piece of flesh that was served in front of me, made me want to gag.
So here I sit, in a cafe in downtown Toronto, I can still say, I am now cured of meatatarianism with momentary relapses. It has been a long three weeks. Stupid, Killyvilly. I liked my beef burgers.
