Mr Beasley on the rocks?

It was refreshing to see the venerable Mrs Beasley wading into the subject of extreme vegetarianism in the pages of The Nation.  She manages to reach the nub of the problem, albeit via a roundabout route, and raises some interesting questions in the process. I am often intrigued to see how far women of a certain age will go. Is it right, for instance, to consider plants’ consciousness in terms of their non-responsive demeanour? I don’t think so. I had a cat like that once, but never did I consider placing poor Montmorency on the barbecue, no matter how many times he refused to answer me back on those long, lonely evenings.

On the question of eating rocks, I also do not recommend it, except in extremis. They are notoriously lacking in nutritional value, save for trace minerals, but worse, there is also the fact that many rocks are formed out of fossilised once-living organisms, both floral and faunal. Eating rocks could therefore be construed as the worst of both worlds, as you would be eating both residual plant and animal matter. 

No, I think the other option, only vaguely touched upon in her letter, is the preferred solution. I wonder if she has truthfully considered the option of her husband, Horace? If he truly loves her, he might even acquiesce to being eaten. Not that I approve of cannibalism under most circumstances, but if she does indeed go down this route, might I suggest that she steers him towards the consumption of more palatable alcoholic beverages of an evening?  Personally, I prefer a nice brandy or rice-wine marinade, rather than the usual mix of Heineken and Johnny Walker Black. 

Alan Mehew

Bangkok