THE YEAR OF THE RAT
Lockdown has clipped my wings, so this story is closer to home. During the early months of Covid-19, friends and well-wishers sent endless creative ‘chain emails’ urging one to pick soothing poetry, recipes, music and books to calm frazzled minds, and not to break the chain. I confess I wasn’t very good at this. Perhaps it was the pressure of artistic expectations. Perhaps it was an unwanted distraction (I’m trying to write a book) or maybe a combination of the two. I dearly wanted to know that I’d helped infuse another’s mind with a handcrafted selection of my own carefully thought through zen musings. I didn’t want to break the chain. I even felt a tiny bit guilty. But on reflection, I was pre-occupied with a different distraction, and one that came with a catchy tune: Rat In Me Kitchen by UB40 from 1986.
There's a rat in me kitchen what am I gonna do?
There's a rat in me kitchen what am I gonna go?
I'm gonna fix that rat thats what I'm gonna do,
I'm gonna fix that rat
There's a rat in me kitchen
When you out on the street,
You practice lies and deceit
And you scandalise my name
But when I catch you up
I'm gonna pull you up
I'm gonna check-out inside your brain
Indeed, the lyrics are mildly threatening. Political. The band hinted that the rat in the kitchen symbolised Maggie Thatcher, Prime Minister at the time that the song spent seven weeks in the UK charts at Number 1. Other interpretations point to a rant against apartheid. And yes I have a rat. It’s called Rat. I wondered if Rat could be Boris and pondered the timely coincidence of rodent + tune during a pandemic as the #blacklivesmatters movement regains momentum across the world. Strictly speaking, Rat isn’t in my kitchen, but above my kitchen tap dancing under the eaves. We jig to the tune together sometimes: ‘I’m gonna fix that rat that’s what I’m gonna do’. Rat is too clever to be fixed though. No amount of ratty treats laid on flour-dusted cardboard (Rentokil requires paw print evidence before intervening) will entice him from his home, so I’m resigned to sharing my space with a skittering companion above my head. In April the BBC reported changes in rat behaviour due to humans retreating indoors with New Orleans seeing ‘swarms of visitors wandering its famous streets.’ And rats were out of a job too - all restaurants, cafes and bars closed so where else to go but where the people were? During the Great Plague of 1665, Pepys wrote of ‘great fears of the sickenesse here in the City.’ But he stayed even though he dreaded catching it and sensibly got his papers in order, re-wrote his will and chewed tobacco to ward it off. His last diary entry of that year reads ‘I have never lived so merrily as I have done this plague-time.’ Like Pepys, I’ve kept a diary throughout the pandemic and kept myself surprisingly jolly on gin. I try to do my ‘morning papers’ each day and Rat has proved a faithful listening companion and the only living creature that will ever be a party to them.
The lyrics continue:
You invade my space
Make me feel disgraced
And you just don’t give a damn
Which reminded me of another ratty incident – one that I’m sure Pepys would have diarised had he experienced it too. A while ago BC (Before Covid), I was cycling home from work on a hot evening in West London. Stopping at some traffic lights on a busy road, a commotion on the pavement nearest me caught my attention. A woman was quite hysterical waving her arms at a rat near her feet. It was quite a large rat and sat motionless, unperturbed by her excitement. She fled, replaced by curious onlookers, at which point the rat suddenly grew bored of the attention and dropped down into the road. It came straight towards me and I watched in amazement as it climbed into the front wheel of my bicycle prostrating itself across the spokes like one of those circus acts on a disc waiting for knives to be thrown. The rat was whiskery, with matted brown fur and a long pinkish tail. It appeared quite tired and in need of a lift. The traffic lights turned green, and cars behind me started honking. The idea of playing Russian roulette with a spinning rodent didn’t appeal, so I got off my bike ignoring the honks, and with one hand holding back traffic I hoisted bike and rat above my shoulders and walked to the opposite pavement. Setting the bicycle down, the rat waited a moment before climbing off the spokes and plodding to a nearby gutter. I rather fancied it turned its head to wink at me before dropping through the grate.
According to Chinese tradition, we are in the Year of the Rat. The zodiacal rat represents new beginnings, a symbol of wealth and plenty. So rather than disease and plague, I’m looking forward to a new beginning now with plenty of wealth. If China is correct in its predictions and 2020 is a year of renewal, then maybe the Year of the Rat can turn unfortunate events into fortunate ones. I just hope my rat doesn’t start a family.