Yesterday evening when I came home, Mark waited for me. He sat on the doorstep with Watson’s head in his lap. When I rounded into view, he stood up, came up to me and said. “Put your bag in, we’re going somewhere.” I didn’t get a chance to protest. I was tired, and I wanted something to eat, but I did as I was told. I had better obey, or he’d sitting there still, and would catch a cold.
First we went to a restaurant, and then we went to see a film. As it happens, we saw Jurassic World. Not the most engaging film, but enough to detach the mind for a couple of hours. The formula for films of this type is, of course, that someone opens a park with dinosaurs, and then the dinosaurs escape, and then there’s a lot of chasing and shouting. This film didn’t deviate much from the formula.
The film was forgettable, but yielded a bit of fun after because as it happens we met up with a couple of friends and went for a beer in a pub. One of the friends wanted to talk about the film, and concluded that – on the whole – it was quite good that the dinosaurs had died out.
Queue Mark’s mischievous nature, because obviously the dinosaurs didn’t die out at all. We just have a different name for them. We call them ‘Birds’. Birds are direct descendents of the Theropoda family of dinosaurs, which sported such luminaries as T-Rex and Allosaurus. Dinosaurs never were big dumb lizards. They were big dumb flightless birds. When the asteroid smashed into Yucatán sixty-five million years ago, it isn’t true that the dinosaurs died out. It’s just that most were killed. Small ones like the Archaeopteryx, which was the size of a small magpie, survived,
This is the great thing about being married to a scientist-to-be. Well, apart from the whole “Velociraptors were feathered! There’s no excuse for not using feathers in this film. They’ve established years ago that the Velociraptor Mongoliensis had feathers” line of comments during the film. One can spend thirty minutes after a film trip debating whether the sea-gulls that try to snatch your snack out of your hands is more closely related to the Tyrannosaurus Rex than the Great Tit is.
In the end, does it matter? How cool is it that a budgie or parrot, or the tits in the garden, wants to become this thing below when it grows up? The dinosaurs are among us, they’re watching, and they all want to steal the sandwich out of your hands. And if they are annoyed, they will shit on you from a great height. Lucky us that the dinosaurs shrunk, isn’t it?