Even as a tiny monkey barely out of the maternal tree*, the call of the 'sweet' (or what the North Americans would call 'cute') was never particularly strong. Pink, Little Kitty, bows, skipping, fairies, Mills and Boon, sugary things; teenage makeup, boy bands (inc.
Marky Mark and his Funky Bunch), glitter, stickers and using smileys and/or hearts instead of a dot over the letter 'i': out.
Ponies/horses (inc. in dangerous situations, e.g. imaginary three-day-eventing and/or riding to Olympic victory for Britain and winning gold against the odds, e.g. with dislocated shoulder,somewhat in style of
International Velvet): in. Thinking giggly girls were fucking idiots: in. Going to spastically academic dayschool and not realising sexism existed until met male Chemistry students at university: also in.
But now alarm bells ring! Give me a photograph of a small and random creature (not puppies and/or kittens; something wild, perhaps, or in the rodent family), and I feel a strange and unfamiliar combination of tenderness and wild amusement.
For e.g., please examine the home-made nature of this small hamster's neckwear:
Observe the helpless childlike paws of this blonde hedgehog (an animal which, it must be noted, is mainly made of fleas and eats dog food for fun):
And, on that subject, why is it that I - a sometime drinker of absinthe and gambler on the cock-fights - am rendered insensible with tenderness and glee at the sight of these three little fellas?
And why does my best friend in England reply to every email containing a photograph of a tiny hedgehog with the words "that's DISGUSTING"?
I shall I suppose have to put these questions at the bottom of the list marked "Random Questions About The Very Nature of the Universe"; one day the answer will come up, much in the way that I hope one day an answer will emerge to the eternal question, "Why is Jeffrey Archer?".
* the fact that my mother is out of her tree is another issue altogether.
