foxy foxes
Last Friday was B's leaving do at The Salisbury in Covent Garden. This pub used to be a Victorian gin palace, and with its well preserved splendour, as B says, makes you think you've walked into Hogarth's painting. Us the shop assistants normally work on different days, and therefore you only have a tiny knowledge of the others from the day book we jot down notes, so it was especially nice to finally meet everyone. The burning issue of the evening was about banning fox hunting, discussed for hours between D and S. Though it has caused a great furore, the life and death of a fox is honestly something I couldn't care less about. I would be against killing humankind on any occasion, but unless I've spend a decent amount of time with a certain beast, ie knowing Mr Fox's name, having a nice chat with Mr Fox, or understanding its talents and hobbies, then I could perhaps have heartfelt feelings for the animal. Otherwise I remain neutral on this subject.