The Streets of London: 1812 to 2012

“I went in with quiet, timid step. God knows how infantile the memory may have been that was awakened in me at the sound of my mother’s voice in the old parlour when I set foot in the hall.”

Today is the 200^th anniversary of Charles Dickens birth.

Dickens is justifiably credited with having created some of the most iconic characters in English literature. His works have never been out-of-print and many have been turned into movies and TV series’.

“I think I must have laid in her arms and heard her singing to me when I was but a baby. The strain was new to me but it was so old that it filled my heart brimful like a friend come back from a long absence.”

Although born in Portsmouth, he lived in various parts of London – Bloomsbury, Camden Town, Southwark – which I happen to know rather well. Many of his stories take place in or were inspired by these locations.

“I believed from the solitary and thoughtful way in which my mother murmured her song that she was alone, and I went softly into the room. She was sitting by the fire, suckling an infant whose tiny hand she held against her neck.”

When I think of Dickens’ London, it always brings to my mind the glorious sketches and engravings of William Hogarth (1697 – 1764). Both Dickens and Hogarth manage to convey some deep truth about the human condition disguised in the form of cartoonish caricatures.

“Her eyes were looking down upon its face and she sat singing to it. I was so far right that she had no other companion. I spoke to her and she started and cried out.”

And now, as I walk the streets of London, I sometimes cannot help wondering how far – as a civilisation – we have advanced in the last 200 years. Sure, we have energy efficient electric street lamps instead of gas lamps, and we have an organised Metropolitan Police Force instead of Peelers; we have clean water and a reliable sewerage system.

These are all essential fundamentals of any developed country.

“But seeing me she called me her dear Davy, her own boy; and coming half way across the room to meet me, kneeled down upon the ground and kissed me, and laid my head down on her bosom near the little creature that was nestling there, and put its hand up to my lips.”

But also, just as Dickens father was imprisoned in 1824 for his inability to pay off his debts, we continue to evolve a society where the majority are condemned to a life of debt slavery; where gross financial inequality is the norm; where only a handful gets to share in the wealth of the nation.

With such a rapid human population explosion over the last 50 years, this is simply an unsustainable condition.

I do not believe that the economic model of the last 200 years will successfully negotiate the next 200.

Politicians, bankers and others’ whom - by god, we do not trust - need take heed. Billions of people are looking for a new paradigm.

“I wish I had died. I wish I had died then, with that feeling in my heart. I should have been more fit for heaven than I have ever been since. ”

Rabbits Are People Too

“…and the rabbits sang as if every sparkling drop of morning dew were a fountain of inspiration to them...”

- The Pickwick Papers (1836), Charles Dickens

Simon on her Hatch Day, 365 days ago

Today, Simon - my oldest rabbit - has her 365^th Rez Day !

As I have explained before, whereas human avatars have one Rez Day per year, virtual rabbits have one Rez Day per day.

It's just another one of those Marvellous Mysteries of the Metaverse.

Celebration Carrot Cakes

In this transient, changeable and fickle world that is Second Life, not many rabbits actually make it to their 365^th Rez Day – geez, very few human avatars even make it to their 1^st Rez Day if retention figures are anything to go by!

So it really is quite a feat that Simon has survived so long! A good reason indeed to celebrate - especially after her difficult early life.

You see, Simon has certain gender issues that she would rather we didn’t discuss publicly.  She is a very sensitive rabbit; a buck trapped in the body of a doe.

Suffice it to say that she would rather we didn't address her by her real birth name, 'Simone'.

"Call me Simon"

Vellhi hatched two days after Simon.

Vellhi is always happy! Doesn't matter what happens, he is *always* happy!

How cool is that?

Well, actually, not very cool at all.

I am sad to report that a leading pet psychologist recently diagnosed Vellhi as suffering from Chronic Obsessive Happiness Disorder.

Watching him is like watching a clown perform at your grandma's wake - you know it is *intended* to cheer you up - but it is such singularly inappropriate behaviour that is just doesn't!

Vellhi - Catastrophically Happy

My youngest rabbit is Orwell - named after George Orwell and Orson Welles.

He is a nasty piece of work, a real evil buggar. He likes to call himself 'Napoleon'.

He taunts my other rabbits mercilessly: "If you're a buck, then why dontcha got a willy? Huh?", he will say. And things like, "Keep taking your pills, Happy Boy!"

Today he even threatened to bite off Tutsy's face!

Orwell - No one ever has a good word to say about him

In April 2011, Orwell got himself in trouble with The Authorities for faking his own death to try and claim the insurance money.

Because it was his first offence (that they were aware of), the police let him off with a caution. One of their friendly councillors gave him a donut and told him to stick more closely to church related social activities.

Orwell - Notorious Death Faker (April 2011)

Each of my rabbits has its own foibles and quirks, its own weaknesses and strengths, its own vulnerabilities.

And I love each one of them for who they are.

Because each of them is an individual.

In that respect at least, rabbits are people too.

Pixie xx