Into the jungle

If you live in Leeds, you'll probably know about Tropical World. And I highly recommend that on some lazy Sunday, you grab your kids (or someone elses' - it's just important that children accompany you.), and mooch over to let the fun begin. It's £3, and I'll tell you exactly what you'll get for your money:

*Prams, everywhere. Prams of every colour and configuration - mostly manned by people who really shouldn't be parents (I know this, because although it's difficult to pin point how to go about being a great parent, it's very obvious to spot a bad one). And trying to hit a giant butterfly with your baby, while your wife chases you with a Kodak, is not a good start.

*Heat, 40'c to be exact. It was never going to go well for me. When I was eleven, my family and I travelled to America. The moment we left the air conditioned airport, I decided I couldn't breathe, and panic attacked/screamed/cried my way into the hire car.I don't like hot air - air so hot, that you can't feel the oxygen entering your body, and the carbon dioxide escaping it. It's like someone's holding a pillow over your face. Well, in Tropical World, your skin melts. Your skin turns to wax. The denim of your Jeans becomes one with your thighs. Enjoy.

*Assault - You and everyone else is packed in there. Don't know that strange man over there very well? You do now! You've never been this close to anyone! Now you know what his hair tastes like. Yum.

 The children are the worst. They walk over your shoes. They use your arms and hands as hanging vines, and swing their way through crowds. I'm sure children have their good points - but what most of them lack, at that young, E number riddled age, is manners. Squeezing their skinny bodies in between you and the glass, banging their sweaty fists on the wood and shouting at the Meerkats. Will someone please restrain this monster? No, no one will, because kids will be kids won't they. I don't think they will, not if you leave them in the car (recommended).

ALSO, because I'm sure you miss hearing about my train journeys as much as I miss talking about them: I had a right belter last night. First, I approached my seat to find three people discussing it.

Man: Oh, no, please, you take it.
Woman: I couldn't possibly, go ahead (to woman 2)
Woman 2: It's fine, really, I'm getting off at the next one.
Man: (gesturing to woman 1) I insist.

What I then said was:

Me: Sorry guys, that's my seat.

And strode past assaulting each in turn with either one or a combination of the items I was holding: lap top rucksack, water bottle, handbag.

Now, judging by the subsequent glaring, I can only assume what I really said was,

'Look, you mole-eyed degenerates. IT'S MINE;'

And finally, if you want to read an incredibly well written book, about a woman who forgets who she is everyday (and as Ginger Beard rightly suggests, is pretty much 'Memento' on the page), then pick up 'Before I sleep.' I read it in a few hours, and had horrendous nightmares. But it really does make you appreciate your working noggin, and the writer can really spin one hell of a story. WriterAtLunch stamp of approval.



Good news for you, if like Ginger, you can't read: