Never put a rodent on a Lazy Susan.

I have something I need to get off my chest this week: Lemmings are angry wee jerks. Yes, lemmings. Oh, and I know what you're thinking, “Surely, Lynn, you can't mean those adorable, wee rodenty creatures with the puffy cheeks and wee bodies, who live in the Arctic Tundra, and who tragically throw themselves off cliffs.”

Well, yes I do. And no, they don’t.

Google it. I tell you, lemmings are aggressive wee jerks.

And obviously, these are strange times in which we live so maybe you've found yourself thinking how you’d love a wee pet to snuggle and care for: A hamster, but not a hamster. Something gerbilly, but not a gerbil. Something a bit bigger than a mouse, but not a mouse. And you’d found yourself saying, “Oh how I’d love a wee furry lemming to snuggle with.”

And then you'd discovered that you're not allowed to own a lemming in your district because they're categorized as exotic pets. And you'd been sad.

Then you'd be an idiot. For being sad.

Because a lemming would not allow you to love and care for them. A lemming would not snuggle. A lemming would shit in the toes of your slippers when you're sleeping, just for the hell of it, and then laugh uproariously through its wee rodenty teeth when it spied you taking your first steps in the morning.

Ok, so maybe not all lemmings. Maybe if you did somehow manage to get yourself a couple of pet lemmings (they don’t like to be alone) you could train your specific lemming to be adorable. But it would be unlikely. The point is, that if you’re looking for a defining characteristic for a lemming it’s aggressive.

People have been making up magical stories about lemmings for centuries. Supposedly Norwegian children used to be told that if you made a lemming angry, it would spontaneously combust. (I still kinda believe that one).

In the 16th century, a Bavarian geographer called Jacob Ziegler announced that lemmings actually fall from the sky like furry, lumpy rain when it’s stormy, only to die suddenly when the grass grows in spring.

But the biggest piece of drivel that’s passed as the truth about lemmings is that they’re driven to commit mass suicide by jumping off cliffs voluntarily. They don’t.

Some species of lemmings migrate when the population density of too high. So there might be a plethora of angry wee furry things in your neighborhood one day, and the next day, nothing. Some migrations are successful, some not so successful. Sometimes a cliff might be involved. But if it is, it’s a mistake.

Try to persuade anyone of that though, and they’ll look at you like you’re an idiot. Because in 1958, Disney as part of their "True Life Adventure" series, produced a documentary film called "White Wilderness." Lemmings featured in it, and it detailed their supposedly strange compulsion to commit hari kari.

30 years later, a proper investigation showed the scenes were faked. The lemmings supposedly willfully leaping into the ocean, were actually just thrown off a cliff by the filmmakers. The mystical, mass rodent migration was staged using tight camera angles, cheeky editing, and a cluster of lemmings running on a snow-covered Lazy Susan.

But the investigation came too late. By then, we were all suckers to the idea that these poor tragic angry hamster impersonators, were compelled to pop their communal clogs like in some mental rodent version of a Puccini opera.

So, despite what Disney may have told you, lemmings don't just joyfully jump off cliffs, in the same way warthogs can't sing, and monkeys aren’t necessarily huge contributors to the world of jazz.

And the metaphor, behaving like lemmings might be an accurate description of short, adorable-looking people in a vicious pub fight, but it's not a good metaphor for mindlessness.

Personally, I think the metaphor for mindlessly following should be, “London Commuter.” And, no it's not as catchy, but it's definitely more accurate.

Years ago , when living in London, I would mainly travel by tube. The tube is a brilliant form of transport because if you miss one, there’s always another in about 10 minutes (apart from on the Northern line).

When going somewhere in London, I’d generally make enough time that I wouldn’t have to get the first or even second tube, and still have plenty of time to get to my destination. But all it would take was one person. The sound of a train coming into the station, and one person starts running. And then another. And then there would be some fast walkers - people who want to get that train too, but don’t want to look too obvious about it.

And then - even though you don’t care that much and you’re not in a hurry - your legs speed up and then you’re running too. Running to get a train. Even though you’re not even late. And another train will be along in a minute. And everyone’s running - running like lemmings - except not really like lemmings because we’re not actually punching each other in the face just for the Hell of it ( apart from on the Northern Line obviously).

Point is, if you're looking for a metaphor for the act of following mindlessly, London Commuters would do. As would, from a personal point of view, the term “Christmas Shopper.”

I buy way too much shit at Christmas. Even when I’ve bought everything I need, I still don’t trust myself. I even buy things I don’t like because somehow I think I ought to like them. What the Hell even is a stocking stuffer? For eleven months of the year I don’t give a toss about it, but two weeks in December it becomes an almost obsessive priority.

We humans are interesting creatures. Singular in thought, and yet not singular at all.

When I was a kid back in the old country, there was a show on telly called Jim’ll Fix It. You could write to the host, and ask him to make your dreams come true.

For example, you could have written into the show and said, “Dear Jim, I love lemmings. I want a pet lemming but I’m not allowed. Can you send me to the Arctic Tundra so that I can cheer them up?”

And if you were chosen, then the TV show would send you to the Arctic Tundra and then come back and sit on Jimmy’s knee and talk about it. Anyone could write in. Except if you lived in my house.

My Dad would never let us write into the show because he said the host, Jimmy Saville, was a weirdo, and there was no way we’d be sitting on Jimmy’s knee. No matter how much Saville was in the news and peddled as a wonderful man who did so much for charity, my Dad remained unconvinced.

In fact, both my Mum and Dad said that if Jimmy Saville came to our house they’d call the police. That’s not strictly true. My Dad said he’d punch him in the face, and my Mum said she’d call the police. And it wasn’t just because my Dad didn’t trust men who dyed their hair, and my mother was suspicious of men who wore jewelry (even Mr T). For both of them, it was about seeing what was in front of them, and knowing in their gut something felt wrong.

And of course, they were right. Google Jimmy Saville. But you’ll need a strong stomach. History has since revealed that any kid sitting on Jimmy Saville’s knee was about as safe as a lemming on a Lazy Susan.

The trouble is that people like stories. We are biologically tuned in to hear stories, whether it’s that lemmings are innocents that follow each other off cliffs, or that the worst serial rapist in the history of the UK is actually an offbeat sweetheart who gives to charity. We like a bit of interest in our narrative.

Understanding this, in 1923 Russia formed a "special disinformation office." This new word ‘disinformation’ was defined in the Great Soviet Encyclopedia in 1952 as "false information with the intention to deceive public opinion," and from then on disinformation became a tactic used in political warfare.

The aim is to fight back against “Western Imperialism” by disrupting domestic politics within America and Europe. In this way, they can shift the balance of world power.

To do this they bombard media and social media with stories promoting American isolationism, border security concerns, and racial tensions. They basically bombard the media with made-up, divisive stories. And we, as a population, find ourselves on like a big virtual Lazy Susan, running in circles until we don’t know what to think.

It’s clever. And we are each of us susceptible. If you think you’d never fall for it, ask yourself have you ever believed that lemmings follow each other off cliffs.

Back in the day when Greece was all about the big thinking and gazillions of Gods and the fashion was firmly sandals and togas, Plato supposedly said,

“Someday, in the distant future, our grandchildren's grandchildren will develop a new equivalent of our classrooms. They will spend many hours in front of boxes with fires glowing within. May they have the wisdom to know the difference between light and knowledge.”

I don’t know if he really did say that though. I like the sentiment, but it all seems a bit too Captain Kirk for me. (Who knows, maybe it sounds more authentic in Greek.) But in this world where many different types of lightbox deliver all forms of bullshit, it’s wise to take a moment to consider.

Saying that though, he was a smart dude, Plato, even in sandals (though he knew bugger all about lemmings). What he is universally agreed to have said was

“Reality is created by the mind. We can change our reality by changing our mind.”

I like that. I like that a lot. Though to be honest, it’s also fucking terrifying, in that evidently it means others can also change our reality if they have the opportunity to change our mind.

But like I say, he was a smart guy, Plato, and offered up a wee antidote for the problem, when he said -

“Thinking - the talking of the soul with itself.”

It’s a similar philosophy to that of my parents when all those years ago when I said:

“Laura next door is definitely writing into Jim’ll Fix It, and she says I should definitely do it too”

And my Mother replied, “Oh? And if Laura said she thinks you should definitely jump off a cliff, would you definitely do that too?”

My name is Lynn. I've been a London commuter. I'm a periodic Christmas shopper. I sometimes worry about stocking stuffers.

But in such times as these, I work very very hard at not being a lemming.

Till next week

xo

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