As you can probably tell, I like Giraffes.
Anyone who follows me on Twitter will know that my greatest ambition in life, is to ride a Giraffe into the West End.
Now, I know most will think this is just some whimsical fantasy, but it really and truly is something I aspire to, and I’ve given it a great deal of thought over the last couple of decades.
Obviously, the easiest route to Giraffe ownership would be to move to Africa, but I’m not keen on moving that far. Also, a move to Africa would scupper the ‘riding into the West End’ part of my plan. That is a no go.
It strikes me that this leaves me with two options.
Option 1) Bribery of some African officials, and the UK Borders Agency.
Option 2) Marry a zookeeper.
As I’m always skint, and not a member of the criminal underworld, the bribery option wouldn’t be wise. I’d end up broke, giraffeless…and in prison. I will avoid that route.
I’m unsure of the feasibility of the zookeeper route, either.
I don’t know any zoo keepers, but I imagine they are quite ethical and their number one concern would be for the animals’ welfare. Even with the promise of a lifetime of delicious home cooked food, anal sex, soapy tit-wanks and blow-jobs, I think I’d struggle to sway them to my belief that the best place for a Giraffe is parked on a patch of lawn, outside my flat in Muswell Hill. The other issue is that I’m not keen on the whole marriage element of this idea.
So, the long and short of it, is that I’m stuck.
My mum tells me that ‘in the past’ (this could be anytime between the 1800s and 1970s) Harrods could get you ANYTHING your heart desired, and that the prestigious department store had a zoo on the roof.
As the laws changed in regard to animal welfare and health and safety, Harrods’ zoo department had to close.
This is probably pure fabrication, but as I’m prone to more than the occasional bout of gullibility, I lapped it up.
I could probably find out the definitive answer by simply Googling it, but I really can’t be bothered. I quite like the eccentrically romantic thought of a zoo-full of wildlife stalking about, a few feet above the heads of the sophisticates trying on their minks.
If I could find a way to, legally, purchase and facilitate the delivery of a Giraffe to London-N10, I would put this purchase to good use.
The Giraffe would live outside my flat, on the lawn. It would have to contend with the rose bushes, but I think it could cope with that.
I live on the 5th floor. Giraffes are tall, but not that tall (I’m not sure how tall they are). I would be willing to sacrifice my amazing views and flat swap with the 3rd floor. This way I could talk to my Giraffe from my window. It could lick my face with its big blue-black tongue, and I could comb its ridiculously long eyelashes, all from the warmth of my flat.
(NB For anyone concerned about the Giraffe’s warmth levels, the Giraffe would not be cold. In the summer it’ll be okay. In the winter I would dress it in my specially designed and patented Giraffe coat, which would be fashioned from electric blankets. It would run from a lightweight generator, disguised as a baby giraffe.)
In the mornings, when it was time to go to work, I would climb out of my window, and slide down the Giraffe’s neck, as if it was a big, furry, patchy fireman’s pole. I’d settle myself on its back, and we’d gallop, happily, to the SouthBank. I would park the Giraffe on the gardens of the Tate Modern, which are a couple of minutes from my office. There he could earn his keep by having pictures taken with tourists, and gaze at the river.
It would be a perfect union.
Of course, I’d expect the Giraffe to live as long as I do.
I have visions of me, as an octogenarian, wearing a purple velvet suit, magenta lipstick, turquoise eyeshadow and a big straw hat, with real fruit on it, riding old Giraffey up Piccadilly to have afternoon tea at The Ritz.
I’m resolute in my conviction that this can happen, in spite of the prohibitive climate, dietary requirements, and legality of owning a Giraffe in London.
Someone once told me that it’s impossible to ride a Giraffe, as they don’t have enough back. I chose to ignore them, obviously.
Ambitions shouldn’t be too easy to achieve. They should be a challenge. I think I’ve set the bar just about right.
This first appeared on Ella’s blog 2 Pints of Jager and a giraffe please which you can read here. And for more animal ramblings you can click here to follow her on Twitter…
Click here for more stories about Life
Click here to follow Sabotage Times on Twitter
Click here to follow Sabotage Times on Facebook