Jonathan Dodd returns. Guest opinion articles do not necessarily reflect the views of the publication. Ed
I’ve been up to my ears in trivia all week. It’s my own fault. Not content with enjoying the occasional quiz, I had to go and volunteer my services to run one.
So for the past several days I’ve been poring over a hot internet copying and pasting tasty-looking questions about the most abstruse and unlikely pieces of information, without which I do not know how I have managed to survive for all these years.
Logical doggedness
What is more, there seem to be plenty of people out there quite happy to wrestle with their minds and memories and sheer logical doggedness to try to answer ridiculous questions.
Like, ‘What colour is octopus blood?’
As if it matters down in the depths, where all colours leech away.
Oxford Street
I remember learning to scuba dive several years ago in the Caribbean. I had bought a small 35mm camera (that dates this story effectively!) with a clear plastic case, that promised it wouldn’t let in any water up to 5 metres. Once I qualified in PADI Open Water Scuba Diving (was I proud of that!) I was down there every day in the most glorious surroundings.
The coral reefs reminded me of Oxford Street. An astounding variety of life was there, passing back and forth along and across, but somehow accommodating my bulky and inelegant presence by just enough distance that made it impossible to reach out and touch any of the astonishing multi-hued fish.
They gave the appearance of completely ignoring me, whilst avoiding me perfectly. It was rather wonderful, and somehow very polite.
Glass-topped corridors
I recently saw some of those species again at Brighton SeaLife, which used to be Brighton Aquarium, with its own Dolphin pool, now empty of dolphins but got up as an underwater glass-topped corridor with all shapes and sizes of sharks passing overhead. It was splendid in its own way.
After my dive I would usually walk along the beach before eating in the evening, and there were usually some of the locals bringing their fishing boats in. There were always some of the fish I had been marvelling at, speared and dead, their bright eyes lifeless and their glorious colours already faded away. They were going to be someone’s supper, and it always saddened me to think of the contrast, and that somehow it seemed to be somewhat impolite to go down to that paradise and commit mayhem.
I know, being a vegetarian makes that easy to say.
Fading into blue
On my dives I would take lots of pictures of all these lovely creatures in all their glory. I even managed to prise off and reseal the plastic case and replace the film, without it ever leaking. When the pictures came back they were all murky and blue. A friend explained that the colours leech away as you descend into the depths, blue being the last to go. So everything looked drab anyway.
I wonder if the fish see the colours or not, and whether they have any idea of how beautiful they are?
Eating shoes
When I gained a new family soon after that, they were most amazed to discover that I’m a vegetarian. They had never met one before.
They set about interrogating me on what I would and wouldn’t eat, and why. They reminded me of myself whenever I ever meet someone who professes to be religious. One question in particular seemed to bother them.
‘How come you call yourself a vegetarian when you’re wearing leather shoes?’
I replied – ‘But I have no intention of eating them!’
What else could I say?
Sorry this is so short. Blame the octopus and its blue blood.
If you have been, thank you for reading this.
Image: NOAA National Ocean Service under CC BY 2.0
Image: rsuehle under CC BY 2.0
Image: Kiley Ewok under CC BY 2.0
