الزرافة

The poor thing, it was waiting for me at the London Central parcels depot on the far side of Camden, the northernmost extremity of St Pancras. Three times on successive days, the Royal Mail had conveyed it about London, to my doorstep, and back to storage. It must have wondered why it wasn't being received, why I was never at home to Mr/Ms Giraffe. A beast of shorter stature might have felt slighted.

Luckily my fleeting guest did not take it at all amiss, or at least I reckon its silence was more a symptom of shyness than reproach. To make amends I pointed out the sights along the way, rather hoping it had not seen it all before on its Parcelforce tours. I think it enjoyed the sensation of the Euston Road underpass (I know I did - the buses don't go that way). The most direct route would have been across the Regent's Park, but I thought the prison-like structure at the Primrose Hill end might be tricky to explain, and potentially traumatic for the creature.

Normally I know what to do with a visitor - several pints in the Duke or the Windsor, then Garbo's or Maroush or Pont des Indes or that Persian place whose name I can never remember. It should certainly have cosmopolitan tastes by now, having originated in Madagascar, domiciled for some time in that slightly ineffectual but worthy institution at the eastern end of 42nd St., so by definition exposed to all shades of culture, then to the LES for a period... But what may amuse a human may not impress a giraffe. Had intended to read to it, but haven't any Kipling in the house. I think it appreciated an early night - and its travelling accommodation was well-appointed, containing reading matter from the Wall Street Journal, and bubble wrap for the relief of stress, so need for me to give up my bed.

Now it is in its rightful home, albeit SW5 rather than the Sudan. I'm sure it will thrive.