I grew up in and around paddocks full of livestock, the abattoirs where they were slaughtered and dressed to the butchers, super markets and catering companies where they would eventually end up on someones plate. A man covered in blood was a common fixture in my child hood, it was more normal than a teacher in a tweed jumper. I was fortunate to have this appreciation for the world, an understanding of a part of the real world which goes mostly unseen despite the countless bellies it fed. I could read Upton Sinclair’s, The Jungle and not feel shock or disgust. Despite the exaggerations and...
















