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Our Crack Little Crack

rousseau.jpg I. Do. Not. Like. Nature.

I had cause to go into the back garden the other day and that small patch of land seemed strangely unfamiliar to me. I had a scout around to see if I could tell what had changed and then it suddenly struck me: I don’t know this place because I’ve only been in it four times in my entire life. The last occasion was in 2015 when the fence blew over. I then had a further revelation: I don’t go in the garden – which is resplendent with all manner of flower and bush – because I simply don’t like nature. There: I’ve said it! I. Do. Not. Like. Nature. I put this notion to a cove in my local pub recently and he was aghast, reasoning that you cannot call yourself properly civilised unless you are “at one with nature”. I hit back: “Surely civilisation is not about getting close to nature. It’s about getting as far away as humanly possible.” He wouldn’t concede the point however and started banging on about scenery and views and what not. But I would honestly rather cast my gaze upon a Cary Grant film than look at even the most beautiful of sunsets.