My life as a Zebra
(Anonymous)
Diary Account 1
Tuesday 11th August 2009 12pm (Galleries of Justice)
…Not a "dies non" day!
They have in the past hung people on the steps of the Shire Hall, no place for a zebra I thought. Ascending them (on two legs) I walked through the open door and into the lobby. To one side of me I caught sight of a gentleman in old clothes who was full of rigor – a cadaver I presumed? My eyes (restricted and maladjusted to the human face mask that I wore) deceived me. The figure, a mere historic imitation, had been positioned in the vicinity of the entrance door to either welcome me (and others) into the museum or to bid us a fond farewell. Either way I glanced across at his presence and smiled at him. I turned my attention to the task in hand. “Hello, I’m here for an interview for the position of Inspirational Zebra” I said to the receptionist (in my best English). The beam upon the girls face suggested that she seldom had such words spoken to her. The receptionist then asked me my name (I gave it) and she then proceeded to phone someone. I think whoever she was talking to down the other end of the curly wire must have been in another part of the building and beyond calling range. I guess humans do not communicate like us Zebras…we just holler out loud. “There’s a gentleman here for interview,” she said. I was asked to wait for a moment, someone would be down to collect me - not as a trophy I hopped. You never know with these humans, they collect anything…stamps, beer mats, points on nectar cards and even the heads of Zebras. My Great-Great uncle Henry had become a head trophy sometime in the late 1800’s…upon the wild grasslands of the Serengeti. Firmly I put to one side my wretched thoughts of poor decapitated Uncle Henry…I turned my attention to the lobby…noting my escape route just in case there was a need to take heel (on to all fours if necessary).
The lobby gave me the impression that it was some sort of holding pen…there were a number of youngish children waiting to go somewhere…May be they had done something really shoddy…were they to be sent down? …Of little concern to me I thought, I had my own worry…I still had to pass myself off as a authentic human…to get this job…I needed the cash…life for a Zebra in Twenty First Century Britain is a little tough at the moment…two legs good and four legs…well four legs means you could be either a pampered pet or a hunk of meat…to be strung up and tenderized for cooking…the hanging union beckons…Henry! …Still the disguise is holding up well…and the CV with all the gobbledygook about arty performances and exhibitions had secured me an interview.
I had written in my application (Zebras can write) that in my informative years I had played the roll of one of the three wise men, known as Balthasar in the Biblical nativity story, for two consecutive years. I wrote also that I had performed the part of the Cheshire Cat in a school production of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. I also took on a role of a playing card in the same production…as to which card I took the part of I alas have absolutely no idea.
You may well have guessed by now that I had decided to disguise myself as a human-being and to secure some meaningful employment…a Zebra masquerading as a human to masquerade as a Zebra. I chose wisely to continue to be a member of the male genus …aged about 40-45 and about 11 stone…going on something more. I wasn’t sure if this job was really for someone so ancient but what do I know…all humans look exactly alike. Upon commencing with my deceit I also had to think of a human name to call myself. I thought that in order to safeguard family honour (from eternal Zebra humiliation should I be unmasked) that I would Google ‘Local Artists in Nottingham’ and take a false name. ‘He’ll do’, I thought. I had found someone…an artist who seemed to jump, dribble and throw things…I am not about to disclose his name, as I don’t think that he’d like it.
The interview went very well and I secured the job! Afterwards I slipped into the furry Zebra costume for the first time and place it over my phoney human outfit. I felt like one of those Russian Dolls or a form of mutant double Transformer thing…sometimes life could be a little bit weird and wonderful. At the time of interview there was also a human up for the part. Happily my hosts held two non-identical costumes (I appreciated the detail) ...we would be a brace of Zebra. As our introduction to the job it had been decided that we would be required to venture out into the streets of Nottingham to get a feel of the costumes and to distribute some leaflets promoting Nottingham Contemporary to my employers.
I set off at a slow cantor towards the new NC building; my fellow Zebra and I posed for a few rudimentary pictures. Jumping in the air shots (I had most definitely picked the right artist to imitate), two Zebras’ propped next to one another shots…and Zebras’ gesticulating to camera shots. We Zebra accompanied by two chaperones continued our journey towards the Market Square. Along our route…we danced in front of several street musicians and hugged, shook hands, waved and had our photographs taken with a good many pedestrians…onwards we trotted towards the market square…upon arriving…it was bustling with people. Three hundred tonnes of sand, some fairground attractions, a crazy golf course, a cocktail bar and some water had turned this once notorious no go zone (dig deep into history people) into Fun Coast World…just like Skegness (but fortunately without the donkeys).
We Zebras undertook a forty-five minute session in the square before making our way back towards the Galleries of Justice. I had my tail pulled only once whilst we were on duty. There was no malice shown towards me just over enthusiasm. Aside this minor incident the public seemed really happy to engage with us. I caused some young person (in a pram) to start crying…I guess it was all too much for the little one…it is going to happen occasionally - cuddly Zebras will cause some distress sometimes and I am not too sure what one person made of me as I sat down next to them on a public bench. I guess it is possible that the person may have preferred a Zebra sitting next to them rather than sensing the warmth of a stranger…a fellow human. Humans can be like that …detached.
(Anonymous)
Diary Account 1
Tuesday 11th August 2009 12pm (Galleries of Justice)
…Not a "dies non" day!
They have in the past hung people on the steps of the Shire Hall, no place for a zebra I thought. Ascending them (on two legs) I walked through the open door and into the lobby. To one side of me I caught sight of a gentleman in old clothes who was full of rigor – a cadaver I presumed? My eyes (restricted and maladjusted to the human face mask that I wore) deceived me. The figure, a mere historic imitation, had been positioned in the vicinity of the entrance door to either welcome me (and others) into the museum or to bid us a fond farewell. Either way I glanced across at his presence and smiled at him. I turned my attention to the task in hand. “Hello, I’m here for an interview for the position of Inspirational Zebra” I said to the receptionist (in my best English). The beam upon the girls face suggested that she seldom had such words spoken to her. The receptionist then asked me my name (I gave it) and she then proceeded to phone someone. I think whoever she was talking to down the other end of the curly wire must have been in another part of the building and beyond calling range. I guess humans do not communicate like us Zebras…we just holler out loud. “There’s a gentleman here for interview,” she said. I was asked to wait for a moment, someone would be down to collect me - not as a trophy I hopped. You never know with these humans, they collect anything…stamps, beer mats, points on nectar cards and even the heads of Zebras. My Great-Great uncle Henry had become a head trophy sometime in the late 1800’s…upon the wild grasslands of the Serengeti. Firmly I put to one side my wretched thoughts of poor decapitated Uncle Henry…I turned my attention to the lobby…noting my escape route just in case there was a need to take heel (on to all fours if necessary).
The lobby gave me the impression that it was some sort of holding pen…there were a number of youngish children waiting to go somewhere…May be they had done something really shoddy…were they to be sent down? …Of little concern to me I thought, I had my own worry…I still had to pass myself off as a authentic human…to get this job…I needed the cash…life for a Zebra in Twenty First Century Britain is a little tough at the moment…two legs good and four legs…well four legs means you could be either a pampered pet or a hunk of meat…to be strung up and tenderized for cooking…the hanging union beckons…Henry! …Still the disguise is holding up well…and the CV with all the gobbledygook about arty performances and exhibitions had secured me an interview.
I had written in my application (Zebras can write) that in my informative years I had played the roll of one of the three wise men, known as Balthasar in the Biblical nativity story, for two consecutive years. I wrote also that I had performed the part of the Cheshire Cat in a school production of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. I also took on a role of a playing card in the same production…as to which card I took the part of I alas have absolutely no idea.
You may well have guessed by now that I had decided to disguise myself as a human-being and to secure some meaningful employment…a Zebra masquerading as a human to masquerade as a Zebra. I chose wisely to continue to be a member of the male genus …aged about 40-45 and about 11 stone…going on something more. I wasn’t sure if this job was really for someone so ancient but what do I know…all humans look exactly alike. Upon commencing with my deceit I also had to think of a human name to call myself. I thought that in order to safeguard family honour (from eternal Zebra humiliation should I be unmasked) that I would Google ‘Local Artists in Nottingham’ and take a false name. ‘He’ll do’, I thought. I had found someone…an artist who seemed to jump, dribble and throw things…I am not about to disclose his name, as I don’t think that he’d like it.
The interview went very well and I secured the job! Afterwards I slipped into the furry Zebra costume for the first time and place it over my phoney human outfit. I felt like one of those Russian Dolls or a form of mutant double Transformer thing…sometimes life could be a little bit weird and wonderful. At the time of interview there was also a human up for the part. Happily my hosts held two non-identical costumes (I appreciated the detail) ...we would be a brace of Zebra. As our introduction to the job it had been decided that we would be required to venture out into the streets of Nottingham to get a feel of the costumes and to distribute some leaflets promoting Nottingham Contemporary to my employers.
I set off at a slow cantor towards the new NC building; my fellow Zebra and I posed for a few rudimentary pictures. Jumping in the air shots (I had most definitely picked the right artist to imitate), two Zebras’ propped next to one another shots…and Zebras’ gesticulating to camera shots. We Zebra accompanied by two chaperones continued our journey towards the Market Square. Along our route…we danced in front of several street musicians and hugged, shook hands, waved and had our photographs taken with a good many pedestrians…onwards we trotted towards the market square…upon arriving…it was bustling with people. Three hundred tonnes of sand, some fairground attractions, a crazy golf course, a cocktail bar and some water had turned this once notorious no go zone (dig deep into history people) into Fun Coast World…just like Skegness (but fortunately without the donkeys).
We Zebras undertook a forty-five minute session in the square before making our way back towards the Galleries of Justice. I had my tail pulled only once whilst we were on duty. There was no malice shown towards me just over enthusiasm. Aside this minor incident the public seemed really happy to engage with us. I caused some young person (in a pram) to start crying…I guess it was all too much for the little one…it is going to happen occasionally - cuddly Zebras will cause some distress sometimes and I am not too sure what one person made of me as I sat down next to them on a public bench. I guess it is possible that the person may have preferred a Zebra sitting next to them rather than sensing the warmth of a stranger…a fellow human. Humans can be like that …detached.
Diary Account 2
Friday 21st August 2009 3.30pm (Nottingham Council House)
‘Proofread carefully to see if you any words out.’ - Author Unknown
Every writer I know has trouble writing. - Joseph Heller
…I wonder if Joseph Heller had any idea how difficult writing is…for a Zebra I mean? …Especially if you only have hooves to write with…OK I have four of them…you would think that I’d be pretty nifty around a keyboard…70.5 words a minute perhaps? But alas no…sadly not…I’m a single digit typist…the Qwerty keyboard is demure, and plastic…I demolished six boards in May with my heavy handed/footed typing skills, subsequently I have reduced my losses to a mere 2 a month…although September was another exceptionally bad month; I eradicated four… all this devastation is even before I begin to commit words to the word-processor screen…(virtual paper). I am still learning to word process…and the English language continues to baffle…thanks to Mr Microsoft (abnormal name) however I at least have a rudimentary proofreader, one that does not require me to pay them a living wage. I hammer out single letters conjuring (with some force and much frustration) words...it’s a form of boxing…I assume that as I punch home individual letters that I am actually winning the battle of words…I am pulverising the plastic letters…they crack, splinter and break below my metaphorical finger…in reading the text back, each word and each sentence has been hard fought for, it becomes clear to me that I’m actually behind on points. The word ‘Boat’ forms on the screen before me…this is the subject of today’s outing for the Zebra’s…the launching of paper boats upon the clear waters of the market square. I hope that the artist who’s name I’m borrowing isn’t present…I noted during my research that he makes paper boats and locates them around cities, sets fire to them, launches them upon water and seems to do all manor of things with them…that’s enough about him…
Boat building…now there is a fine craft…I arrived in the UK by boat, although one day I aim to leave this Sceptred Isle by aircraft…as a modern day Dick Whittington… returning to my home…more certain and assured of my purpose. I’m not a seafaring Zebra...I am partial to still horizons…just like the good deep-rooted flat savannas of my mother country.
The nautical traditions of this Isle are impressive…She can profess to have built some of the world finest boats…The Titanic, The QE series and that Tea Clipper…If my memory serves me correctly it has only recently been raised to the ground. I’m certain that the contemporary boat builders of Lady Britannia are still making some fine seafaring vessels…if not she is certainly producing a wealth of record-breaking medal collecting, headline grabbing sailors. If evidence is requisite…be assured that the Nations boat building skills are still alive and kicking. During my outing (around the market square) I saw evidence that there is great hope for inland ship building…a flotilla of some 40 paper boats drifting aimlessly upon black tranquil waters…the chaos that is ‘Nottingham By the Sea’ continued to be the magnet that attracted the crowd…like an restless and greedy whirlpool…it gave no quarter. If only ‘they’ the restless ones had become aware of this action and maybe…just maybe, they could have seized the opportunity to encounter some much needed slowness…to grasp with the visual, the cerebral and the poetic. We two Zebra endeavoured to engage with the public, however the delicacy of the ‘Guerrilla’ boat launch was to be witnessed by few in number…we Zebras gave good service, alas we could not compete with the Cities seaside ecstasy and alas neither could the petite handcrafted boats. Our escorts (fully aware of the situation) gave us good council…to cut short the outing. Profound existentialist feelings ran riot in my mind…moments of frenzied exchange materialised… As I trotted towards the Council House…I drifted in and out of states of being…lucid yet indistinct…I felt sandwiched…‘I’ as real Zebra, ‘I’ as a fake human (I am beginning to think that I am human) and my third self ‘I’ as pretend Zebra…a caricature of both the former and the latter. I am aware of the Biblical parable about Jonah…it is about spirit, patience and mercy…however I would like to add that before Jonah experienced revelation and enlightenment he, Jonah succumbed to wrenched horror…firstly, by drawing the short straw…he was cast into the raging sea in a storm of his own creation…the prospect for Jonah was death by drowning, yet in moments of absolute abjection Jonah’s good fortune was revealed… a floundering Jonah was swallowed/eaten/digested…or as some may say, rescued by a whale. On this scorching hot August day and for one horrendous moment I saw myself looking out of my own gaping mouth…swallowed twice…firstly by a Zebra (death by my own kin) and secondly by a human (the carnivorous one). I saw my own demise (twice) by ingestion…this was real horrorshow…we two Zebra made our return towards the Council House and back into its cool interior to defrock.
Friday 21st August 2009 3.30pm (Nottingham Council House)
‘Proofread carefully to see if you any words out.’ - Author Unknown
Every writer I know has trouble writing. - Joseph Heller
…I wonder if Joseph Heller had any idea how difficult writing is…for a Zebra I mean? …Especially if you only have hooves to write with…OK I have four of them…you would think that I’d be pretty nifty around a keyboard…70.5 words a minute perhaps? But alas no…sadly not…I’m a single digit typist…the Qwerty keyboard is demure, and plastic…I demolished six boards in May with my heavy handed/footed typing skills, subsequently I have reduced my losses to a mere 2 a month…although September was another exceptionally bad month; I eradicated four… all this devastation is even before I begin to commit words to the word-processor screen…(virtual paper). I am still learning to word process…and the English language continues to baffle…thanks to Mr Microsoft (abnormal name) however I at least have a rudimentary proofreader, one that does not require me to pay them a living wage. I hammer out single letters conjuring (with some force and much frustration) words...it’s a form of boxing…I assume that as I punch home individual letters that I am actually winning the battle of words…I am pulverising the plastic letters…they crack, splinter and break below my metaphorical finger…in reading the text back, each word and each sentence has been hard fought for, it becomes clear to me that I’m actually behind on points. The word ‘Boat’ forms on the screen before me…this is the subject of today’s outing for the Zebra’s…the launching of paper boats upon the clear waters of the market square. I hope that the artist who’s name I’m borrowing isn’t present…I noted during my research that he makes paper boats and locates them around cities, sets fire to them, launches them upon water and seems to do all manor of things with them…that’s enough about him…
Boat building…now there is a fine craft…I arrived in the UK by boat, although one day I aim to leave this Sceptred Isle by aircraft…as a modern day Dick Whittington… returning to my home…more certain and assured of my purpose. I’m not a seafaring Zebra...I am partial to still horizons…just like the good deep-rooted flat savannas of my mother country.
The nautical traditions of this Isle are impressive…She can profess to have built some of the world finest boats…The Titanic, The QE series and that Tea Clipper…If my memory serves me correctly it has only recently been raised to the ground. I’m certain that the contemporary boat builders of Lady Britannia are still making some fine seafaring vessels…if not she is certainly producing a wealth of record-breaking medal collecting, headline grabbing sailors. If evidence is requisite…be assured that the Nations boat building skills are still alive and kicking. During my outing (around the market square) I saw evidence that there is great hope for inland ship building…a flotilla of some 40 paper boats drifting aimlessly upon black tranquil waters…the chaos that is ‘Nottingham By the Sea’ continued to be the magnet that attracted the crowd…like an restless and greedy whirlpool…it gave no quarter. If only ‘they’ the restless ones had become aware of this action and maybe…just maybe, they could have seized the opportunity to encounter some much needed slowness…to grasp with the visual, the cerebral and the poetic. We two Zebra endeavoured to engage with the public, however the delicacy of the ‘Guerrilla’ boat launch was to be witnessed by few in number…we Zebras gave good service, alas we could not compete with the Cities seaside ecstasy and alas neither could the petite handcrafted boats. Our escorts (fully aware of the situation) gave us good council…to cut short the outing. Profound existentialist feelings ran riot in my mind…moments of frenzied exchange materialised… As I trotted towards the Council House…I drifted in and out of states of being…lucid yet indistinct…I felt sandwiched…‘I’ as real Zebra, ‘I’ as a fake human (I am beginning to think that I am human) and my third self ‘I’ as pretend Zebra…a caricature of both the former and the latter. I am aware of the Biblical parable about Jonah…it is about spirit, patience and mercy…however I would like to add that before Jonah experienced revelation and enlightenment he, Jonah succumbed to wrenched horror…firstly, by drawing the short straw…he was cast into the raging sea in a storm of his own creation…the prospect for Jonah was death by drowning, yet in moments of absolute abjection Jonah’s good fortune was revealed… a floundering Jonah was swallowed/eaten/digested…or as some may say, rescued by a whale. On this scorching hot August day and for one horrendous moment I saw myself looking out of my own gaping mouth…swallowed twice…firstly by a Zebra (death by my own kin) and secondly by a human (the carnivorous one). I saw my own demise (twice) by ingestion…this was real horrorshow…we two Zebra made our return towards the Council House and back into its cool interior to defrock.
Diary Account 3
Wednesday 2nd September 2009 3pm (Trent Bridge Cricket Ground)
‘Cricket is a most precarious profession; it is called a team game but, in fact, no one is so lonely as a batsman facing a bowler supported by ten fieldsmen and observed by two umpires to ensure that his error does not go unpunished.’
John Arlott (1914-1991 cricket commentator, poet, wine connoisseur and ex police officer)
The Taxi Driver dropped me off outside the ground (Bridgford Road Entrance), I walked up to and through the wide-open gates and into the ground. Perhaps looking a little misplaced…a member of staff (gatekeeper?) approached me and asked what I wanted…I sought the direction to the reception office, I also gave him the name of my contact...the name I gave to the gatekeeper sufficiently reassured him that I had been invited. My contact arrived…with handshakes and pleasantries exchanged he lead me to the changing room. I was not required to change into costume for about another hour or so my contact invited me to go and watch some of the match from one of the cricket stands.
I went to sit in what I believe to be is the Bridgford Road Stand…the pristine looking stadium lay below me...I sat high up in the gods to survey my surroundings. I had no idea who was playing whom…there is no one so lonely as a spectator…a mystified individual who has little idea as to what on earth he is watching and what is actually taking place before him? Without more ado…a holler from the crowd…I’d missed something…’Another one Bites the dust’ is played over the public address system. A cricketer dressed in green and gold attire begins to walk away from the crease…’Out’! I wondered if this was a one-day match between England and Australia…the other team wore blue. My presence here and task for the afternoon was for me to race against some other mascots…of the sporting variety…Nottinghamshire County Cricket, Notts County, Nottingham Forest and possibly a mascot from Sheffield United …’Yorkshire are now 61 for 2’ the tannoy informed me …It clearly was not a test match. We the mascots were here to entertain both the crowd (small) and the Sky Sports viewers (I imagine millions and millions of them) during the ‘tea interval’, scheduled for 6.15pm. The half time entertainment provided by ‘we’ the mascots would consist of a running race…a fifty-meter dash perhaps? …Competitive? …Possibly? …However being an inspirational Zebra I remained uncertain whether I wished to run a straight race…’Can I just do what comes naturally and run in the opposite direction’ I enquired? …’Not good for camera’ I was advised…and may be my actions would be a little too incomprehensible for the sporting audience…I guess the TV sports people wanted more of an ‘It’s a knockout’ approach…we were primarily playing to camera…maybe a straight race could be the order of the day. By all accounts some my suited competitors were somewhat unfit…I reckoned that if I ran a straight race I’d certainly not finish last…unless I wanted to…maybe I’ll go little off-piste? …Sounds reasonable I thought…that will be my stratagem …and now back to the match. I believe upon further study, the game in front of me was a 20/20 match…A Twenty20 game involves two teams, each has a single innings, batting for a maximum of 20 overs… ’That’s the Way I like it’ (KC and the Sunshine Band) ‘4!’ Missed it…I sat and watched the storm clouds gather…The forecasters had expected rain, the anticipated time of arrival over the cricket ground… 5pm…At approximately 5.04pm Rain stopped play…the hover cover spluttered into life, the giant machine lifted upon a curtain of air, it glides effortlessly over the crease ably guided by two groundsmen…touch sensitive the two men merely nudged it into position.…music by Lily Allen played on the public address system…a familiar tack to me yet, I have no idea what is is called…a piece of non-cricket Pop…it was preferable and a respite from the Mickey Mouse the stuff played earlier. Many spectators hurriedly dispersed for the bar, the wc or for home…many minutes passed…and a fair number of people remained rooted to their seats (self included) with umbrellas raised (not I). Under the canopy of the stand I was for the moment protected from the deluge (wind direction…favourable) …the rain storm was not as yet of Biblical proportions…but it spluttered into something a little more ferocious… As I watched the heavy droplets of rain fall through flood light beams…the saturated grey sky surrounding the stadium looked apocalyptic…rain stopped play…match abandoned…Home.
Wednesday 2nd September 2009 3pm (Trent Bridge Cricket Ground)
‘Cricket is a most precarious profession; it is called a team game but, in fact, no one is so lonely as a batsman facing a bowler supported by ten fieldsmen and observed by two umpires to ensure that his error does not go unpunished.’
John Arlott (1914-1991 cricket commentator, poet, wine connoisseur and ex police officer)
The Taxi Driver dropped me off outside the ground (Bridgford Road Entrance), I walked up to and through the wide-open gates and into the ground. Perhaps looking a little misplaced…a member of staff (gatekeeper?) approached me and asked what I wanted…I sought the direction to the reception office, I also gave him the name of my contact...the name I gave to the gatekeeper sufficiently reassured him that I had been invited. My contact arrived…with handshakes and pleasantries exchanged he lead me to the changing room. I was not required to change into costume for about another hour or so my contact invited me to go and watch some of the match from one of the cricket stands.
I went to sit in what I believe to be is the Bridgford Road Stand…the pristine looking stadium lay below me...I sat high up in the gods to survey my surroundings. I had no idea who was playing whom…there is no one so lonely as a spectator…a mystified individual who has little idea as to what on earth he is watching and what is actually taking place before him? Without more ado…a holler from the crowd…I’d missed something…’Another one Bites the dust’ is played over the public address system. A cricketer dressed in green and gold attire begins to walk away from the crease…’Out’! I wondered if this was a one-day match between England and Australia…the other team wore blue. My presence here and task for the afternoon was for me to race against some other mascots…of the sporting variety…Nottinghamshire County Cricket, Notts County, Nottingham Forest and possibly a mascot from Sheffield United …’Yorkshire are now 61 for 2’ the tannoy informed me …It clearly was not a test match. We the mascots were here to entertain both the crowd (small) and the Sky Sports viewers (I imagine millions and millions of them) during the ‘tea interval’, scheduled for 6.15pm. The half time entertainment provided by ‘we’ the mascots would consist of a running race…a fifty-meter dash perhaps? …Competitive? …Possibly? …However being an inspirational Zebra I remained uncertain whether I wished to run a straight race…’Can I just do what comes naturally and run in the opposite direction’ I enquired? …’Not good for camera’ I was advised…and may be my actions would be a little too incomprehensible for the sporting audience…I guess the TV sports people wanted more of an ‘It’s a knockout’ approach…we were primarily playing to camera…maybe a straight race could be the order of the day. By all accounts some my suited competitors were somewhat unfit…I reckoned that if I ran a straight race I’d certainly not finish last…unless I wanted to…maybe I’ll go little off-piste? …Sounds reasonable I thought…that will be my stratagem …and now back to the match. I believe upon further study, the game in front of me was a 20/20 match…A Twenty20 game involves two teams, each has a single innings, batting for a maximum of 20 overs… ’That’s the Way I like it’ (KC and the Sunshine Band) ‘4!’ Missed it…I sat and watched the storm clouds gather…The forecasters had expected rain, the anticipated time of arrival over the cricket ground… 5pm…At approximately 5.04pm Rain stopped play…the hover cover spluttered into life, the giant machine lifted upon a curtain of air, it glides effortlessly over the crease ably guided by two groundsmen…touch sensitive the two men merely nudged it into position.…music by Lily Allen played on the public address system…a familiar tack to me yet, I have no idea what is is called…a piece of non-cricket Pop…it was preferable and a respite from the Mickey Mouse the stuff played earlier. Many spectators hurriedly dispersed for the bar, the wc or for home…many minutes passed…and a fair number of people remained rooted to their seats (self included) with umbrellas raised (not I). Under the canopy of the stand I was for the moment protected from the deluge (wind direction…favourable) …the rain storm was not as yet of Biblical proportions…but it spluttered into something a little more ferocious… As I watched the heavy droplets of rain fall through flood light beams…the saturated grey sky surrounding the stadium looked apocalyptic…rain stopped play…match abandoned…Home.
Diary Account 4
Sunday 25th October 2009 12.30pm (Hockley Hustle)
Listening to music is an important part in a Zebra’s day…it helps keep us Zeds grounded…we Zeds are after all notoriously fierce creatures…I do not think that there has been a day that I have not eaten breakfast without music playing on my CD device, record deck, tape player, computer, I-pod, radio alarm clock, on the TV or even live…yes even live music in the mornings. I must say however since moving to the UK I have really enjoyed listening to some classical music…I have not heard everything that the European composers have committed to vinyl, tape or digital medium.
Several weeks ago…around at my domicile and following an early morning live music jam session with some buddies of mine…I have thereafter had a morning music mood swing…I have started listening to Jazz…
The home live jam session had been instigated by the trombone player William the Hyena from the band ‘Suck it and See’ (the independent brass section within in the jazz band ‘Blast Theory’) Blast Theory are the resident house band who play at the ‘Café to Die For’ (on days and other days). I sometimes join them for a live session on Monday evenings at the Café…we usually play for about an hour before our great friend Dennis ‘The gazelle’ Seymour takes over for the late night graveyard slot on the piano. BT always retire to one of the seated areas at the back of the room (under a print of the ‘Laughing Cavalier’ …BT have one undertaking to perform before Dennis, who really is deep down inside a lady gazelle takes to the stage, or the floor as there is no actual stage. The landlady, Gloria has upon the digital jukebox one particular track that is essential listening at this time in the evening (about 11.30pm)…FZ’s ‘Farther Oblivion’ …our task is to drink as much as we can for the duration of the song…a hurried 2:18 is all we have…so its shot glasses full of liquor for most, except Johnny ‘toes’ Smithsonian II, a Zebra colleague (Saxophone) who only downs pints…he plays the 2:18 for laughs, firstly he spills more than he actually drinks and secondly he tries hard to put us off also…it seldom works…we’re a focused bunch…at least for those 2:18.
Sunday 25th October 2009 12.30pm (Hockley Hustle)
Listening to music is an important part in a Zebra’s day…it helps keep us Zeds grounded…we Zeds are after all notoriously fierce creatures…I do not think that there has been a day that I have not eaten breakfast without music playing on my CD device, record deck, tape player, computer, I-pod, radio alarm clock, on the TV or even live…yes even live music in the mornings. I must say however since moving to the UK I have really enjoyed listening to some classical music…I have not heard everything that the European composers have committed to vinyl, tape or digital medium.
Several weeks ago…around at my domicile and following an early morning live music jam session with some buddies of mine…I have thereafter had a morning music mood swing…I have started listening to Jazz…
The home live jam session had been instigated by the trombone player William the Hyena from the band ‘Suck it and See’ (the independent brass section within in the jazz band ‘Blast Theory’) Blast Theory are the resident house band who play at the ‘Café to Die For’ (on days and other days). I sometimes join them for a live session on Monday evenings at the Café…we usually play for about an hour before our great friend Dennis ‘The gazelle’ Seymour takes over for the late night graveyard slot on the piano. BT always retire to one of the seated areas at the back of the room (under a print of the ‘Laughing Cavalier’ …BT have one undertaking to perform before Dennis, who really is deep down inside a lady gazelle takes to the stage, or the floor as there is no actual stage. The landlady, Gloria has upon the digital jukebox one particular track that is essential listening at this time in the evening (about 11.30pm)…FZ’s ‘Farther Oblivion’ …our task is to drink as much as we can for the duration of the song…a hurried 2:18 is all we have…so its shot glasses full of liquor for most, except Johnny ‘toes’ Smithsonian II, a Zebra colleague (Saxophone) who only downs pints…he plays the 2:18 for laughs, firstly he spills more than he actually drinks and secondly he tries hard to put us off also…it seldom works…we’re a focused bunch…at least for those 2:18.
February 2012
Trench foot is a medical condition caused by prolonged exposure of the feet to damp, unsanitary, and cold conditions...trench foot does not require freezing temperatures.
...and my four appendages were most certainly damp! We Zebras are used to warmer climates and without doubt we can shiver in very cold weather just like humans...I observed this the preceding Sunday; I stood by the right Lion in the Old Market Square, my mitts sodden and icy after walking through the remnants of some fetid mushy snow. I remember grandma Lucy used to tell me a story; she said that we zebras were all white at one time. One day Zebra (For Zebra existed as our primary character) was hiding from Lion by standing in the tall grass. He stood there for so long and held very still the whole time so that Lion would not see him. The hot sun cast the shadows of the blades of grass across the white of Zebra's body. He stood there so long that the shadows became permanent and that is why we Zebra are stripped to this day.
I was out and about in Nottingham distributing flyers and button badges (promoting the Family Extravaganza). There were few takers that morning...those amongst you who had ventured out were focused upon remaining on two legs...treacherous conditions underfoot. It was remarkable that several people who passed before me were ill prepared for this current spell of mushy whether...no coat, their arms tightly wrapped around their own bodies...shivering and struggling to remain balanced...and likewise Mr. Zebra; shivering... at a standstill...by a lion. I am certainly not primed for this weather. I remind myself that this is only my third winter here in the UK and I rarely ventured out during the previous two winters...I do not particularly like the damp and the snow here in the UK seems to be shoddy stuff...it is good for about an hour then its rubbish... after about an hour I wretchedly capitulated and did the commonsensical thing and called it a day...if the Local Derby; Derby and Forest could be called off, then I also could concede defeat. I returned home...put my four feet up on the sofa and settled down to watch an Audrey Hepburn film on DVD (Sabrina). As a rule I will not place my muddy hooves on the sofa...on this occasion I had no reason to be concerned as I’m purchasing a new daybed this week.
...and my four appendages were most certainly damp! We Zebras are used to warmer climates and without doubt we can shiver in very cold weather just like humans...I observed this the preceding Sunday; I stood by the right Lion in the Old Market Square, my mitts sodden and icy after walking through the remnants of some fetid mushy snow. I remember grandma Lucy used to tell me a story; she said that we zebras were all white at one time. One day Zebra (For Zebra existed as our primary character) was hiding from Lion by standing in the tall grass. He stood there for so long and held very still the whole time so that Lion would not see him. The hot sun cast the shadows of the blades of grass across the white of Zebra's body. He stood there so long that the shadows became permanent and that is why we Zebra are stripped to this day.
I was out and about in Nottingham distributing flyers and button badges (promoting the Family Extravaganza). There were few takers that morning...those amongst you who had ventured out were focused upon remaining on two legs...treacherous conditions underfoot. It was remarkable that several people who passed before me were ill prepared for this current spell of mushy whether...no coat, their arms tightly wrapped around their own bodies...shivering and struggling to remain balanced...and likewise Mr. Zebra; shivering... at a standstill...by a lion. I am certainly not primed for this weather. I remind myself that this is only my third winter here in the UK and I rarely ventured out during the previous two winters...I do not particularly like the damp and the snow here in the UK seems to be shoddy stuff...it is good for about an hour then its rubbish... after about an hour I wretchedly capitulated and did the commonsensical thing and called it a day...if the Local Derby; Derby and Forest could be called off, then I also could concede defeat. I returned home...put my four feet up on the sofa and settled down to watch an Audrey Hepburn film on DVD (Sabrina). As a rule I will not place my muddy hooves on the sofa...on this occasion I had no reason to be concerned as I’m purchasing a new daybed this week.
Through the Gape of a Zebra
I thought you might be interested in reading about the origins of the Dr Doolittle story! Basically the writer of the Doolittle books (Hugh Lofting) served in the first world war and came up with the Dr Doolittle story...the idea of the Doolittle character is actually based upon a fable (known fact within the animal kingdom). One of the early animal pioneers was a Quagga called Alexander Victoria; Alexander made the journey from Africa to England. Alex Vic changed his name to William Puddleby and took to wearing a human form and Mr W. Puddleby thereafter set about improving the wellbeing of the animals of Victorian England. Alex Vic trained as a vet and for all intent and purpose (whilst dressed as a human) convinced Victorian England that he 'Doctor Puddleby' could communicate with the Animals. Dr Puddleby joined London Zoo in 1829 (one year after the zoo opened). Dr Puddleby tried to make sense of his profession and likewise his accustomed double life...As an early pioneer in the field (as an Animal/Human life-form) it became increasingly strenuous for him to co-exist in the two worlds...rapidly he became conscious of the fact that he had very little power to help his fellow animals in the cages...the zoological society began to take an interest in him nonetheless…it was evident that Doctor Puddleby had some empathy with the animals psychology. The good doctor however was struggling to learn the ways of Man and the distressing needs of kindred spirits…his calls for welfare changes (for his fellow creatures) were not being taken as genuine…he began to feel powerless to create changes, as he listened to more and more concerns of the animals he became increasingly traumatised. Doctor Puddleby began to learn and understand the cost required, to become integrated into a complex human society...in order to the create change he so deeply wanted to see; if others were to follow him (from the Animal Kingdom) he would need to understand human behaviour…things had to evolve more subtly; within a year ‘the man who talked with animals’ one day simply vanished from the Zoo…
Several stories appeared on page 11 of the London Weekday News on September 21st 1930. Entitled, ‘The London Zoo Mysteries’; the reporter (Bartholomew Adam) asked, How did a Quagga (subspecies of a Plains Zebra) turn up in the barred enclosure of London Zoo’s two Chapman’s Zebras…and; The Police remain mystified as to the disappearance of Dr Puddleby? On the same page and under the headline, ‘Bizarre sightings’ were two further stories connected to the Zoo, firstly the Grizzly remains of a human skin found near London Zoo and secondly a distressing report about Zoo husband (Jeremy Teamouth) reporting that his spouse was missing. The report adds that a woman fitting her description was last seen galloping down Prince Albert Road.
Several stories appeared on page 11 of the London Weekday News on September 21st 1930. Entitled, ‘The London Zoo Mysteries’; the reporter (Bartholomew Adam) asked, How did a Quagga (subspecies of a Plains Zebra) turn up in the barred enclosure of London Zoo’s two Chapman’s Zebras…and; The Police remain mystified as to the disappearance of Dr Puddleby? On the same page and under the headline, ‘Bizarre sightings’ were two further stories connected to the Zoo, firstly the Grizzly remains of a human skin found near London Zoo and secondly a distressing report about Zoo husband (Jeremy Teamouth) reporting that his spouse was missing. The report adds that a woman fitting her description was last seen galloping down Prince Albert Road.