I note that I have not written a post since 21st September. I feel remiss. Despite getting a new glossy screen with reach to read the Neocrats I have found that I have very little to say; so let me tell you about my dream:

I dreamt I wrote a short story. In my dream it popped into my head as I sat in an Oxford college. I called out to the members eating in the dining hall. They stopped eating and listened to my story. Here is something of what I told them:

Dear Friends, a little story has popped into my head. It takes place in a huge, mahogany-panelled dining room such as this, with ancient portraits and forty feet long tables. However, it is in the home of an American oil-magnate. His magnetic personality has played its role in inviting a huge list of the world’s leaders and shakers to his dining room. They have a great feast. And he regales them with intelligent communication. And he begins to talk a little more about the environment. He talks about extinction, and they all start to discuss the tigers. [This story is set 20 years in the future, when there are only 10-12 tigers left in the wild.] The conversation becomes more intense and many people unveil their great regret that this species is more or less extinct.

Now that the oil-magnate has established the tone of the conversation, he carefully begins to unravel his tale, which is in fact the only reason he established this feast. He tells them that he shares their sadness, but that his sadness cannot compare to the fixation he has developed with being the man to kill the last tiger. The audience stare back. He then says that he has invested $12,000,000 to find the last 10 tigers and have them shot. The audience continue to stare.

The oil-magnate then says, ‘have you not noticed that your meat is very fine, that it tastes almost UNUSUAL? That is because you people, you leaders and shakers in your tuxedos and diamonds, with your fancy talk of carbon debts and topsoil erosion, have just committed an unusual act: you have feasted on the corpses of the world’s last male and female tigers!’

The oil-magnate laughs until he coughs.

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