Cows

I don't know if this is bizarre or not, but, one of the ways in which Cambridge has not moved on at all since 1463 is that we have cows in the city centre. Lots of cows. Hanging out. Doing their bovine stuff.

We turn our bottoms towards women waving cameras. Vamoose

These cows are near one of the main roads into the centre. There are also cows in the colleges (this is bizarre, isn't it?) and also near the river which runs through the centre, on the fen. The cows on the fen stand on the bridges and face down tourists. They are cows without shame. When people have picnics in the summer, sometimes the cows sidle up and intimidate them and nibble their sandwiches.

I was buying some beef from the farmers' market once, and as I passed it to the woman who was running the stall to pay for it, she said, brightly, this beef comes from the Cambridge Cows! I winced because I do not really like to think where my meat comes from especially if it is a cow who might have faced me down on a bridge, and she looked at me firmly and said, now look. These cows have had a very lovely life.

This is the dilemma, isn't it? The more you don't know where your meat comes from the more likely it is to have come from somewhere absolutely appalling, but then it's difficult to eat a cow who you might have met out and about. I won't do my lecture on How Capitalism Separated Us From The Means Of Production And Destroyed Society (although, what a lecture that is!) but I think if I'm going to eat meat I should eat meat whose origin I know and trust, not pretend it started off in a neutral polythene tray and ignore how it was really produced (I know there's the option of not eating meat at all. Not at the moment. Perhaps later).