Here at OneKind we're intent on finding lots of different ways to help people make a difference for animals, whether it be through lobbying politicians ahead of key legislation, through promoting an animal-friendly lifestyle or by volunteering your skills to the cause.

There's a buzz of excitement around the office right now as we're all set to launch our campaign to rid Scotland of snares once and for all, a campaign that will need the help of people like yourself who care about animals.

In a Mail Online article on 7th June, Philip Hoare, author of the critically acclaimed book Leviathan, or The Whale wrote of his encounter with a sperm whale in the Azores. "I've never been so terrified. I could even feel the click of the whale's sonar as it scanned me, physically reading me. Then it came close enough to touch, and turned its eye to look at me. In that gaze, I saw sentience. And all I could think was of one word: sorry."

Why was Hoare's impulse in coming eye to eye with this fellow thinker, dreamer and survivor to say sorry? The answer is obvious really.

Nationalism is ok isn't it? During the world cup it is anyway. It's a time when you can unashamedly hang your flag out of your car window and shout at passersby, safe in the knowledge that they know the context - there's a football tournament on and you want your country to win.

If it was a war and those people were on the opposing side then it would be a bit different - the car would be chased like it was an ice cream van on the hottest day of the year.

Eeny, meeny, miny mo, hit your MP on the toe... or whatever the rhyme says. That's one way to select your MPs in this Thursday's UK election.

Another would be to turn your back while they number each other like you did when you played football in the playground.

Another, better way might be to watch the leaders' debates on the telly and vote for the one with the leader that was best at remembering the names of audience members.

If none of these float your goat, the party manifestos are a good place to start. It's quite time consuming to try and read all of these, especially with just a day or so to go till polling, so while you'll all be interested in a myriad of issues, we've tried to help by compiling the different parties' policies on animal welfare.

What in the name of Robin Hood's quill am I on about? King John's Castle is the name of a horse that ran at the Grand National last weekend. Well when I say ran I mean, in the words of the official website, he 'didn't move'.

To some this may seem a sign of weakness, a lily-livered act of cowardice that will deserve horse-taunts in the equine school playground. But to me it was an act of rebellion, a two-hooved gesture of defiance that said 'You want to jump over those hedges? Do it yourself!'. OK, so I'm anthropomorphising a little, but bear with me.

Remember when you were a kid and you went on holiday, and you were really looking forward to it, then you'd get all excited and pack far too early, then you get there and then, then all you want to do is make some friends then play around with a ball till you get shouted in by your mum for your tea? "Johnnnnn, yer dinner's ready!!"

Making friends on holiday was easy as a young lad, you would just find a small clearing, then holding a football, a tennis racket, or even better, a swingball kit, you stand and wait. Guaranteed as sure as night follows day within 10 minutes you'll have a new friend from some part of the UK you've never heard of before like Basingfordshire.

James Cameron's latest film has probably now been written about more times than I've eaten Linda McCartney pies. However, my tuppence worth on this 'Dances with Wolves meets Aliens meets the Smurfs' film is going to look at the way the Na'vi tribe treated the animals that they shared planet Pandora with. I'm grimacing with self-restraint to stop myself calling them Pan's People.

You know what? I've decided to up-sticks to Pandora. I've put the house in Musselburgh up for sale, given away the TV, computer, sega master system and complete collection of Carry On Films, bought a little blue suit for the cat and have decided to go and live with the Na'vi people. Who cares if the air isn't compatible with our lungs - neither is it here on earth at times.

Question. When is a pig not a chop? Answer. When it’s a Micropig.

I should really be celebrating the fortune of birth that this latest entry to the animal pop charts has benefited from. Instead though, being a cup half empty kind of guy,  I’m musing on the unfair treatment of their larger cousin, the pig (pictured left), or you may know them by the latin name I’ve just made up, Porcus Grandus.