Snakes

If I ever need an eye-patch, I could do a lot worse:

This shows why I am not an actress. I thought my face was calm, serene, meditative. I would need to do a lot of facial muscle exercises.

I felt the eye-contact a privilege as much as the firm but gentle hold: enough to stop my friend falling, but keeping away from the larynx in anyone she graced.

The snake made a sudden dash for the coat my friend was carrying, and went behind the label. Her keeper had to cut the label off, while she panicked and tried to pull herself through.

Swanston had a zoo until the 1970s, run by two old ladies, and in the museum there is a photo of three blokes and a boy down the pub supping pints, a young lion at their feet, his mane not full grown. S. told me that drunks wandering home used to go through the zoo park, and put their hand in the cage to pet the lion, and get it bitten off.

What? More than one person did that?
Well, no-one did it more than once.

As you walked up the High St you could hear the lions roaring. If you know where to look, you can still see the remains of the penguins’ pool.

My friend’s welcome guest cannot fly, but uses those small wings to glide down to the forest floor to mate.