A trip to the zoo
A trip to the zoo suddenly seems like a major life event, which is why it wasn’t wholly surprising when two, over-excited children ran into the bedroom and asked if we were leaving.. at 05:30! Why, I asked myself, would I want to see more animals when I already live with two wild things?
Our journey did not get off to the greatest of starts. No sooner had we left the house than Amy announced, “I have poo on my trousers”. While I was still trying to figure out exactly how this could be possible I watched in the rear-view mirror with horror as Amy put her finger in the brown stain and then put her finger in her mouth. It was like one of those slow-motion clips in films where I was still forming the word ‘Nooooooo’ when Amy cheerily announced, “It’s okay, it’s weetabix.” Relief and revulsion flooded into me in equal measure.
I like being early. It is a constant battle in my house as despite Emily’s enormous intelligence, the concept of time seems to escape her. “Time is relative” said Einstein but for Emily it is a distant second cousin once removed. It was, therefore, no surprise that while we arrived at the zoo 30 minutes before opening time, Emily had to run to catch her train to work (I can only imagine that running in a mask is not a pleasant experience). It was also no surprise that in the current climate we were not the first to arrive at the zoo.
Speaking of climate, the forecast was for heavy showers and the new rules did not allow you to return to the car except, we were pleased to hear, when you wanted to leave. We therefore entered the park armed with a giant picnic, coats and a large umbrella. Of course, this being England, it did not rain until about 10 minutes after we had returned to our car and set off home, typical!
The zoo itself was very easy to navigate. Wide paths, large picnic areas and plenty of toilets (necessary for the young and the not so young alike) made the day very relaxed. Yes, certain attractions like the “Walk with Lemurs” and the children’s playground were shut but this didn’t detract from the day itself. The cafes were open, the toilets cleaned after every use and more hand sanitiser than could be found in a hoarder’s shopping trolley adorned most junctions along the paths. This, however, did not mean that the visit was entirely peaceful.
One of the problems with having young children is the incessant questioning one has to deal with. The park had models of various late-stage dinosaurs and ice-age creatures to which every single one gave rise to the same question from Amy, “Why did it die?”, which was mirrored by Joseph’s, “Which one is the King?”. The King is Dead Joseph.
“Is it lunchtime?”
“No, it’s 10:03”
“Is it lunchtime?”
“No, it’s 10:08”
“Is it lunchtime?”
“Look, it’s 10:17 do you really think we should have lunch now”
“Yes”
“Fine”
Mentally battered and bruised and physically exhausted from carrying a full backpack, umbrella, doll, coats and, for a while, Amy on my shoulders when the next round of questioning started about whether they could have ice-creams I folded quicker than the UK’s first attempt at a track-and-trace program.
As for the animals, they were, as always, amazing to see although there were moments when I was tempted to ignore the sign asking visitors not to feed the animals. The tiger in particular looked like it would appreciate two child-size morsels for breakfast.
