7 Reasons The Zoo Is My Habitat
Last week I did something I hadn’t done since I was a boy. I went to the zoo. I’m not going to lie, I immediately felt at home. Here’s why:
1. Playground. As I may have expressed before, I am a boy trapped in a man’s body. Though whose it is, I am yet to establish. I have never grown up and I don’t intend to. I like being silly. Silly is good. I also like swinging from things while being silly. I saw monkeys at the zoo. They were being silly. And swinging. And picking their noses. It looked awesome. Well, maybe not the picking the nose bit. That made me a little bit sick. But the silliness and the swinging was definitely for me. I want to do that.
2. Sleep. Generally, after I’ve had a day of being silly and swinging around the clothes line, I like to have a sleep. Unfortunately I am prevented in this pursuit by one of two things. Either Claire arrives home or, as sometimes happens, Claire is already at home. Such appearances from my future wife make it very hard to sleep when there are important things to do such as make dinner, plan weddings* or – and the notion still makes me shiver – talk. At the zoo, there was silliness, swinging and sleeping. A whole lot of sleeping.
3. Talk. As previously indicated, I’m not a big fan of talking. I absolutely loathe small-talk. And, as for big-talk, I would rather do a naked lap of St. Andrews. (The football ground, not the golf course. My embarrassment does not need enhancing by the cold Scottish winds). It’s not that I’m uninterested in what you have to say, it’s more that The Tremeloes said Silence Is Golden and I have never stopped listening to them. The thing I noticed at the zoo was that animals don’t talk. Not even a little bit. They make weird noises occasionally – which is nice – but there’s no talking. And no animals asking other animals to talk to them either. Which means more time for silliness, swinging and sleeping. They’ve got it sorted.
4. Feeding. Some of the animals are fed upwards of four times a day. And I’m not talking about snacks here, I am talking proper meals. Four proper meals. Each day. That’s my kind of feeding.
5. Chores. With the exception of the ants who seemingly work all day and all night carrying bits of leaf over logs, non of the animals at the zoo have to work. Or go to school. Or get the shopping in. Or iron their trousers. (In fact, many of the animals I saw were naked). Animals, from what I have seen, don’t do any of the boring stuff at all. They’ve never had to write essays on Pride & Prejudice. They’ve never had to stand in a queue at the bank. They’ve never experienced an episode of Time Team. Their work-life balance is perfect. No work, all life. And life, as I’m sure we can all agree, is for living. It is not for spending in Barclays.
6. Vanity. It’s an alarming statistic, but if I was to walk down the entire length of Regent Street ten times in a row, only on seven of those would someone stop and take a photo of me. For someone who fancies themselves quite as much as I do and does their very best to live up to the meaning of their name – Gift Of God - it’s rather upsetting when someone just walks past without even so much as a raise of the eyebrow. In the zoo though, everyone would be taking photos of me. I’d probably even appear on postcards and desktop backgrounds and t-shirts. And that is the way it should be.
7. Olympic Qualities. As I was walking around the zoo I was challenged to a number of Olympic contests. The Zoolympics they called it. A name that made me chuckle uncontrollably for at least twenty-two seconds. From what I experienced the Zoolympics were designed to belittle me. In less than three hours I discovered that my reaction time was slower than the Blue Dart Frog, my wingspan was shorter than the Wandering Albatros and my backside wasn’t as stripy as Okapi. Which all leads me to believe that if I want to win Gold at anything, anytime soon, I need to move to the zoo to be pumped full of whichever Performance Enhancing Drugs the zookeepers have access to. I felt stupid being outwitted by a frog. Really, really stupid. But at least I beat my Dad.
*You do only have one wedding don’t you? It’s just that having booked both the church and the reception venue there is apparently so much still to do. How? I would like to know how?