The Lion Tweets Tonight

Normally I don't experience any kind of excitement on a Monday morning, but today was quite, quite different. A lion is currently free and ambling around inhabited parts of England (cue all Aslan jokes) and the media is whipping itself into a frenzy of excitement.

Wetsoks: Dude, look at this link -  http://uk.news.yahoo.com/lion-loose-essex-police-212351855.html

Me: Awesome! Wait, how the hell does a lion just wander off without anyone noticing?


Wetsoks: I think it escaped from the circus.

Me: And the circus just left? I can just hear the conversation now - "We're down one lion."
"Did you look everywhere? Under the bed? In the secure and locked cage where we normally keep them?"
"Yep. It's not there."
"Well, screw it, we have to leave now or we'll be late. We can buy little Jimmy a new lion in the next town. He won't even notice."

Wetsoks: I know. Who does that?

Me: Only in Britain.

Wetsoks: I think it's been out for a few days at least. They've got the army looking for it.

Me: Well it shouldn't be that hard to find. Follow the trail of dead animals. It's got to be feeding itself somehow. If you find a sheep with its legs in one field and its ribs in another, it probably didn't die of natural causes. I'm just saying.

Wetsoks: I can just imagine that episode of The Only Way Is Essex... "And so I was like, 'oh my god Michelle, you are such a drama queen! A lion did not eat your boyfriend!' She should just admit he dumped her for being a slut!" Cue posh, horsey laughter.

Me: I can say with sincerity and joy that I have no idea what you're talking about.

Wetsoks: The article says that Essex police enlisted the help of experts at Colchester Zoo to identify whether the animal in the photo is in fact a lion.

Me: Naturally when I see a huge, dangerous animal, my first instinct is to whip out my smartphone and snap away.

Wetsoks: Colchester Zoo is adamant that the lion did not escape from them.

Me: Well, establishing blame is the first priority. Then we can catch it. But let's make sure we know whose fault it is before we make any rash decisions.

Wetsoks: Should we be alarmed that they had enough tranquillizer guns to arm a whole squad of soldiers? They'll probably bring down every animal in a forty mile radius just to to be safe.

Me: "Private, can you explain why you shot this cow?"  
"Sir! It looked like a terrorist, sir!"
"...Carry on."

Wetsoks: I am absolutely not looking at the price of a train ticket to Essex right now. In addition, the police are looking for a witch and a wardrobe, who are believed to have information about the lion's whereabouts and motives.

Me: I'm seriously rolfing.

Wetsoks: The lion doesn't stand a chance, I'm pretty sure everyone in Essex is armed.


Me: There are already two Twitter accounts tracking the lion's thoughts as it roams through the countryside. I love modern technology.

The Meat And Greet

Since I've actually been to quite a lot of things at this year's Edinburgh Festival, I'm planning to write more about it later. In the meantime, I hope you enjoy the below interim post.

A month or so ago, I held an Exotic Meat Birthday Barbeque for my friends, in honour of turning - get all the you-look-like-a-child jokes in here now, because sooner or later they're not going to apply any more - the grand old age of 27. We had many different meats, including the following:

Wildebeest
Wild Boar
Crocodile
Zebra
Camel
Springbok

For those of you wondering, the crocodile tasted like fishy pork. I know that sounds awful, but it was actually pretty nice. The only thing I was missing was kangaroo, as the particular butchers we ordered from were out of stock on the day. Now, you guys know I love meat. I also love new experiences, and I'm especially not afraid to try something most people would deem weird, so this was a perfect blend of the two things. However it seems to have sparked an unusual drive in me - an ambition to eat ALL THE THINGS.

Well, most of the things anyway - I draw the line at 'kittens' (that's spiders, to the uninitiated), actual kittens, and otters. Everything else, as far as I am concerned, is fair game. So when I found a meat catalogue at the Foodie Festival last weekend, and opened it to find an even wider range of exotic meats, I got understandably overexcited and started yelling about how they had reindeer and oven-baked squirrel and how I was going to put all the meats in my face, much to the confusion and terror of nearby people.

My friends exchanged glances during this tirade, and then subtly chose to ignore me (they really should have known better, because once a crazy idea worms its way into my little brain, it tends to stick) However, I plan to remain focused, like some sort of meat athlete. I'm going to get one of those posters for children, the ones with the alphabet and pictures of animals on it, and I'm going to eat my way through as many as I can. Do you even know how many species of antelope I haven't eaten yet? Tens, hundreds, possibly thousands. It's mindboggling.

Life is so short, and I intend to enjoy it as much as possible.

Preferably while holding a roast haunch of something in one hand.

Eight-Legged Kittens

My friend Wetsoks text me the other night from her flat, which is unfortunately situated near to the field where my old house was, and therefore is perfectly positioned for constant attacks by the... well. The following text conversation should explain everything.

Wetsoks: OMG KITTEN INVASION!?!?!?!

Me: Ahh! What?!

Wetsoks: Two is classified as an invasion, right?

Me: Get the lighter and the spray! Man the boundaries! Do your duty!

Wetsoks: Okay, good plan.

There was a brief pause while I waited anxiously.

Wetsoks: Uh oh.

Me: Sweet baby Jesus, what have you done?

Wetsoks: There are spider guts all over the wall, brah.

Me: Don't use the S word!!! You know how I feel about that.

To read the original recap of why we refer to spiders as kittens, please read this earlier post - http://witandpendulum.blogspot.co.uk/2011/10/uninvited-houseguests.html

Wetsoks: I didn't even know that 'kittens' had guts. They do. They're pinkish yellow. In case you wondered.

Me: I never wanted that knowledge. I'll cry forever now. Thanks.

Wetsoks: Sorry buddy! Truthfact!

I waited a couple of minutes to allow her to carry out her mission.

Me: Have you executed the kittens yet?

Wetsoks: Yes, and there are kitten guts all over my wall.

Me: I don't know whether to be happy or sad about that.

Wetsoks: Technically only one left its guts on the wall. I hit the other one real hard with a book I didn't like.

Me: At least you had time to choose your weapon. I almost hate to ask but how big were they?

Wetsoks: I chose this book specifically because I wasn't sure I could touch it again, far less read it. And the kittens were huge. Properly huge.

Me: I need to know my enemy. 

Wetsoks: Let me put it like this - there aren't just guts on my wall, or a red mark, there are actual organs.

Here please just put some imaginative expletives in place of what I actually said in response to this, which I am sure was much worse.

Wetsoks: I know, right? They were so big I almost offered them coffee.

Me: I'm going to have to blog about this this. And then weep copiously.

Wetsoks: Why? There aren't any giant kittens in your house, smushed over your furniture and wallpaper.

Me: Yes, but its just a matter of time before they come looking for me.

Wetsoks: Ha! Guess who wrote the book I killed the second one with? Karin Slaughter. 

Me: Genius. However, I worry if something happens to me right now and then someone finds my phone, checks the texts, and the last thing they read is something about killing kittens.

Wetsoks: You know who can deal with that? Future you.

Me: Totally. She's great at that stuff.

Get Fish Or Die Trying

As you might remember, last weekend I travelled back to see my family and to attend a hen night (which I had in fact been tricked into, as my mother had left several important pieces of information out - namely that the entertainment in the hotel was a Take That tribute act - and covered this by saying that she'd pay for my room - later known as 'our' room - etc etc. It was essentially a web of lies from beginning to end).

When I visit my parents, my mother tends to feed me up. It's her natural instinct, which is only heightened by the fact that despite my best efforts I've remained rather firmly entrenched around the 55 kilo mark since I was 15 years old. However, I eat a lot for my size. My friends and family joke that I have hollow legs, because I am usually the first person to finish dinner and ask for dessert, and then two hours later start poking around to see if any dinner has been leftover and needs attending to.

The problem with this is that when I visit my parents, I automatically start eating my way through their food supply, to my father's horror. Luckily when Mum and I got home on the Sunday, he was out playing golf, so I was free to graze as nature intended.

Mum: Sometimes I'm really glad we only had one child.

Me: What?

Mum: Nothing.

Me: Have you got any more cheese? Or ham? Or both? Can I have some of these crisps as well? Is that cake?

Mum: (sighing) Yes to everything.

My father arrived eventually home, delivered a short speech detailing exactly how his golf game had gone while my mother glazed over as soon as he started using the actual terms, and then headed for the kitchen.

Dad: (yelling) Where are my biscuits?!

Me: (slowly crunching) No idea.

Dad: I see. We must have rats.

Me: You know what it must be? Cupboard Ferrets. I hear about them on the news.

Dad: Really.

Me: Yes, they're awful. Apparently an infestation of Cupboard Ferrets can eat one, sometimes two whole packs of dark chocolate digestives in one day.

Dad: Uh huh. And the other stuff?

Me: Well, they'll eat anything. Or so I hear.

Dad: It's funny how they only seem to appear once every few weeks. Must be a seasonal thing, or perhaps to do with the moon.

Me: Mmm. You should probably put traps down.

Dad: No, don't worry, I'll just guard the biscuits and then break their necks when they appear.

Me: Right. That might be kind of inhumane. I'm just saying.

There was a brief silence.

Mum: What's happening? Have we got mice? I don't understand you two half the time.

A Bride's Day Out

I did something I've never done before in my entire life, this weekend. I attended a hen night for my aunt who is getting married at the end of the month. Despite protests, she continued to claim that it was not a hen night (instead choosing to call it a "bride's day out") in blatant disregard of the penis straws, banners, fairy wings, tiaras and other assorted lady crap that made the inside of our minibus look like a chick flick threw up in it.

I know what you're thinking, and you'd be right. It was... interesting. I won't go into detail but rest assured that some memories have seared themselves rather vividly and regrettably, probably permanently, into my brain.

The real amusement came when I had to share a double bed with my mother, something I have not done since I was a child and ill. It's been at least 15 years, but it never occurred to me that she'd been using this time productively to come up with...well. I'll let you read for yourself.


Me: (sarcastically) This is fun.

Mum: (cheerily) Isn't it?

Me: Um...

Mum: Oh, now I have to explain the rules to you.

Me: The rules of sleep? Can't I just close my eyes like normal?

Mum: No. You need to know some things first about how I like to do it.

Me: I don't think I do.

Mum: Just let me explain.

There was a brief silence, during which I mentally prepared myself for the insanity to come since there was clearly no way of preventing it.

Mum: Well, I have this thing. It's called "starting'.

Me: Okay.

Mum: So when I say "I'm starting", that means I've started to prepare for sleep. Don't talk to me after that because if you do then I'll have to start again.

Me: Do you know how bizarre it is for a person to have sleep rules?

Mum: There's something else as well.

Me: Of course there is.

Mum: I also like to have "reserve".

Me: What the bloody hell is "reserve"?

Mum: I start by lying on my back, and then when I'm ready I roll onto my side, but I need to start with enough space to do so, which means I need to start in the middle of the bed.

Me: Dad is such a lucky man.

My mother shuffled over, closer to me.

Mum: Right, I'm starting.

Me: Wait a second. Your arm is on my side and its touching me.

Mum: Well, what am I supposed to do with it?

Me: At least let me have my own little bit of space! You don't even clear 5 feet, you don't need all this area!

She huffed and shuffled away about two inches. I accepted this as the best I was going to get. There was a short silence, during which I did my best to restrain myself from pointing out how insane this all was.

Me: Well, goodnight then.

Mum: Ahh! I'd already started!

Me: But you didn't say you were starting!

Mum: Well, I was.

Me: Well now I'm starting too.

Mum: Good, then we're both starting.

We lasted about 10 seconds before we both burst into hysterical laughter.

Mum: Do you think I'm mad?

Me: Well, a bit. But I already thought that.

Mum: That's alright then.