a mother whale carrying her child for three days, mourning its death from toxic plastic. So big and sad we can hardly grasp it: how did we do this by just living in the normal way, manoeuvring our way through package and wrapping, cutting our way to our food through the layer by layer that keeps it fresher, and doesn’t everyone? What happened before? How did we ever survive with only paper and glass and tin and hemp and leather and oilskin? But now there’s a dead whale right there on the screen: so big and sad something must be done. It will be! Will it be? Will we decide to, finally?
