Mere Role Play


Humans have always been hunters (and many still are, for reasons of everyday subsistence, therapy, sport, field management, pest control and so on) and it is an unassailable fact that we were hunters long before we were humans. So, if I may, I would like to poke a word or two in edgeways through the waterfall of infantile, woke revisionism that cascades over us all day, every day, causing much confusion and collateral damage to rural matters like hunting, farming, conservation and inevitably, the heart rate and wallet of anyone connected with primary industries or the responsible management of any land, wild or cultivated. 

Where does this rubbish stem from?

To recap briefly, evolution and the natural world work in large part by means of unremitting competition. Wolves kill cats, cats kill birds, birds kill caterpillars, caterpillars kill plants, plants kill each other in a fight to the death for light and water and the whole thing is a relentless tide of violence. Everything exists at the cost of everything else. Nature doesn’t have any rules. Things either survive or they don’t.  It keeps things fit for purpose, whether you run fast enough to survive or kill enough to survive. Nature couldn’t care less.  

As Sarah Greenwood pointed out in the pages of this august magazine, Pinocchio Packham may think that nature is “a place of ‘tranquillity and serenity with all creatures living in harmony”, but it patently is not. I suspect he doesn’t believe all the harmony crap for one moment either, but he has his profitable audience of jelly-heads and ARsouls (Animal Rights souls) to address, so he performs role-play for them (and thus  himself). Role-play is defined as “the changing of one’s behaviour to fulfil a social role”. He is, first and foremost, a TV actor. 

Devoid of any form of factual validation, social media is driving the epidemic of role-play that we now find ourselves immersed in. Everyone wants to role-play at being more funny or civilised or attractive than everyone else, hence all the virtue-signalling wokery. The scores in this cesspit of hypocrisy are counted in “clicks”. Thus, role-play is done purely to attract eyeballs and earn clicks, the new social currency. Role-play is the fertiliser of the social currency harvest. Packrat’s fame and fortune are founded on that same social currency, not on any science or facts, but on his popularity and credibility borne of his role-play.  

It should come as no surprise, therefore, that TV, the film industry and actors lead the glittering rabble when it comes to virtue-signalling acts like wokeness, animal rights and the Disneyfication of the rural landscape in urban minds  – after all, they are actors and actors are professional role-players. Actors are no longer penniless thesps – they can turn their gifts for role-play into currency from phone zombies.

For further confirmation, look at the herd of deluded donkeys who support that eco-shyster* Eduardo Goncalves and his deceptive Campaign to Ban Trophy Hunting (CBTH). They are nearly all actors or slebs, too. The CBTH is not so much a campaign to help animals – it is a brightly lit stage for eco-role-play, a theatre. Goncalves puts on the show, the actors get free limelight and he trousers all the ticket money from a gullible public.

Alarmingly, the police have spotted this opportunity, too. Plod used to play a role in society, now he/she/it/both/neither role-plays in society. It will all end in tears, like Sandra Bullock’s politically correct police officer, Lieutenant Lenina Huxley, in the movie Demolition Man.   

And so the rot spreads. To garner the vote of the millions of deluded role-play addicts, our beloved government promises to re-wild the UK rural landscape (but probably make UK farming uncompetitive or impossible) and ban hunting trophy imports to protect wild animals (a demonstrable idiocy that will kill millions of foreign wild animals, destroy millions of acres of habitat and starve scores of very vulnerable, remote people). It’s not a case of “lack of joined up thinking” – it’s simply more role-play, designed to scoop up the easy left-side, touchy-feely vote and greenwash the greedy and unsustainable consumption of Boris’ uber-rich wine-party-and-wallpaper bubble-chums.   

The role-play evidence is everywhere if you look – even Sir Roger Gale MP, an otherwise apparently sane, deep blue old Tory, inexplicably shouts for a trophy import ban like he’s lost his marbles.  

Why would a UK MP ignore foreign pleas? It’s a mystery, until you learn that his alma mater is the Guildhall School of Music and Drama.  He may not run around in big-booty tights and codpiece, Dear Reader, but I suspect he is a frustrated actor. So, when wily Goncalves waves his magic wand, the eco-muppet orchestra strikes up an overture and the limelight of piety floods the stage, the trigger-phrase “Trophy Hunting Role Play” emerges from its grave in Sir Roger’s head and he springs into lunatic verbosity, automatically, like one of those sinister sleeper Boys from Brazil, poor soul. In his sane Tory moments, he has already written a letter of no confidence in Boris, quite unaware that his own gushing eco-babble is part of the tide of woke ignorance and role-play that has turned the ground beneath Boris into quicksand. 

(Before I wander too far, I also feel compelled to add, however, that if Pinocchio Packham really does believe his “harmony” drivel, then I would pay good money to watch him prove his point by sitting down to his vegetarian picnic on the verdant fields of Lion Country at Longleat, where he will discover that the lions, when faced with 80kgs of neurodivergent meat, do not spontaneously break into a rendition of “Hakuna Matatat”  to demonstrate their harmony and tranquillity, nor even show sympathy for his developmental disorder nor indeed exhibit any sign of admiration whatsoever for the impressive way Pinocchio speaks out of his tradesman’s entrance while moving his lips. More objective than subjective, lions are much more likely to see Packham simply as a pack of ham and disassemble him in rather entertaining and creative ways. 

For those of you who still think that nature is harmonious, may I direct you (if you have a sufficiently robust constitution – it’s VERY graphic) to a film clip of a hyena rather inharmoniously disembowelling an impala alive, much to the unfortunate antelope’s discomfort. Nobody is singing “Kumbaya” in this scene, I can assure you. However, I direct you to it not to upset you, but to remind you. There are many such clips on YouTube because violent death is an everyday occurrence in the wild. That is reality. Disney isn’t. I repeat – nature doesn’t consider human things like “cruel” or “bad” – nature doesn’t have ANY rules and doesn’t care. There is no sophisticated role play in nature.  

Nor is there Karma. If there was any such thing as Karma, every lion and hyena in history, lifelong killers as they are, would end up painfully roasting over the fires of Hell until the end of time, tortured interminably by the sound of Dianne Abbott reciting her mathematical theories 24/7 through heatproof speakers.

Even Gaia, personification of Mother Earth and patron saint of the holy vegan cardboard-eaters, is a figment of their imagination, no doubt brought on by their eating disorder. James Lovelock, who actually proposed the Gaia Hypothesis, responded to his critics in1990, saying:

“Nowhere in our writings do we express the idea that planetary self-regulation is purposeful or involves foresight or planning by the biota”. 

Gaia the goddess is imaginary, so her neopagan followers are indulging in role play, too.

The reality, Dear Reader, is that the right hand, supply side of modern economies have done their work so well that they have over-fed the left side consumers, who are now fat and content, and the Devil makes jelly out of their obese and idle minds. Where once their mental faculties were employed in sharing out whatever meagre resources came in from the right, now they lie back and complain about “rights” as their fatty brains scoff endlessly on junk food ideas like “nature’s harmony” and “animal sentience”. 

So, the next time your sanity is assaulted by some role-playing nimblepick crook, opportunist MP or ARsoul activist trying to sell you their role-play wokery, remember the Albatross Sketch from Monty Python’s Flying Circus. The whole animal rights thing is cheap, fatty, sugar-filled, Tartrazine-laced mental junk food, so don’t buy it or swallow it, and when, like the late, great Graham Chapman, you tell the seller to get out of your sight, don’t be surprised if they reply with John Cleese’s visionary retort forty years ago:

 “Don’t you oppress me, mate!”.   

  • Shyster – a person who uses unscrupulous, fraudulent, or deceptive methods in business.  Goncalves is a business (Company No. 13604179) and claims that trophy hunters are killing endangered animals but deceitfully illustrates his fiction with nonconsensual images of hunting animals that are factually not endangered. He rides unscrupulously roughshod over people’s rights to use their resources as they see fit, typically here and here, and fraudulently paints dedicated and qualified, life-long animal field officers as mass killers, whilst he himself has no qualifications whatsoever in animal management or ecology.

John Nash grew up in West Cornwall and was a £10 pom to Johannesburg in the early 1960’s. He started well in construction project management, mainly high rise buildings but it wasn’t really Africa, so he went bush, prospecting and trading around the murkier bits of the bottom half of the continent. Now retired back in Cornwall among all the other evil old pirates. His interests are still sustainable resources, wildlife management and the utilitarian needs of rural Africa.

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