Hello Wingham Wildlife Park

My first effort to find a new place to coo over animals took place yesterday.

Wingham Wildlife Park is in the Kent countryside, about 65 miles from London. It's not far from Canterbury, the home of the world's most famous cathedral, and to get there you have to drive past Howlett's, home of one of my regular animal experiences.

I was prepared for some of the enclosures to be a bit smaller than I would like, and so it proved for some of the medium-sized cats, but given that some are rescued from awful situations, they are currently in a better place than they used to be.

I've only ever seen one very secretive jaguar before, hidden in bushes. This boy was inside in the morning as he shares the outside with his mate...and their cub. Reintroductions have to be carefully handled.




Later he was outside, but he was still longing to get inside with his lady.Who would believe he was born white?




The female is a melanistic cat, as is the cub. Baby's in the grass.




Mum's on a shelf.




Baby wants to play.




Mum obliges.




The tigers are brothers, from a small private zoo in Belgium. Their mother rejected them, and Wingham's stepped in to raise them. They are hybrid, so cannot be bred from. To allow them to stay togethere they have been castrated. The marks indicate that this is the same boy twice.




There were several thunderstorms yesterday, and during one, the ringtail lemurs took shelter under this empty cable roll. Too much effort to go inside...




The lions are also brothers, rescued from terrible conditions in a circus.




In the afternoon, there was an opportunity to spend time with the ringtails in a walkthrough of their enclosure. Usually they have several babies a year, but this year there is only one very energetic little chap.






The park has no problem with the ringtails hopping on to visitors, though we must not pet them (something I only found out AFTER this little episode).






When the sun came out, the red-ruffed lemurs made the most of it.




The park is also part of the Scottish wild cat breeding progamme.




Looking at that lovely black jaguar made me long to give my own little panther a cuddle!

Loyalty Part 2

And it's bye bye Bobby. Till Season 10.

Animals Home and Away

I am almost certainly moving on from London Zoo, looking for somewhere I can drive to in the same time it takes me to get there by public transport (takes about an hour and a half just to go less than half way across London, and though it's free for me, my body pays) and as soon as I have a non-working day when the sun actually shines, I shall be off to Kent where a large group of multi-sized cats - caracals, pumas, cheetahs, jaguars, lions, tigers, native wild cats - awaits me. My car appears to run on air, so it will still be almost a free ride.

Anyway, I went to say goodbye to the tigers, and was lucky enough to get some shots of big boy JaeJae following his keeper's lead to enable a dental exam followed by treats.








Then there was the oh-so-appealing black and white ruffed lemur in the walk-through.





I caught an unexpected tongue shot of a ring-tailed lemur.




There's also a new spider walk-through. Just you, the webs, and some ENORMOUS spiders.




Finally, back in my garden, the foxes enjoy a daily feed.

Loyalty (Part 1)

In which the powers-that-be made their biggest mistake by replacing Bobby with a fly.

Zoonotic

And here we are at the end of the alphabetical run-through of seasons 1-8. After I have painfully posted a picture or two from the only episodes of season 9 that matter, and then finished off with season 10, I suppose it's back to the films. But be warned, I haven't any beyond Chained, and given the lack of interest this blog is now evoking, the end might well be in sight.

Yesterday

Dreamy Bobby. Loved it when he kicked in that door.

Wrongful Life

I was disappointed when the actress in the wheelchair turned up in The Newsroom totally able-bodied. There are plenty of disabled actors, I'm sure they could have found one to play the part.

The War At Home

Can't stand that Jeri Ryan woman. Why is she always cast as some sexpot?

Meanwhile, when not dealing with his ailing mother, Bobby was very good at displaying his lovely neck.

Want

I wanted to feel sorry for the perp in this. Bobby did, of course. But I always worry why these "tragic" serial killers don't just top themselves and leave all their potential victims alone.

Of course, VIncent was wearing his Welles hair.

Busy days with animals

When Macavity arrived he soon settled on my bed. He's no fool.

So Twiglet has colonised the sofa. She appears to have kidnapped the Lindt chocolate bunnie and stolen his collar and bell.

Meanwhile Mac is still on the bed. He doesn't want to reveal the colour of his eyes. They are a secret. Are they yellow or are they green?

On Tuesday Eltham Palace had a preview of the work they've been carrying out during the close season. They've refurbished previously unseen bits, such as the wartime bunker, and because the Courtaulds who built the modern palace had a pet lemur, they brought in a lemur to enhance the day. (Except for the TV presenter who wondered if it was a marsupial...)

It's been quite a lemur-y week. On Wednesday I went to see the new walk-through lemur enclosure at the zoo. Wish I had a tail like that.

 Finally, this evening I enjoyed my usual fox-feeding fest. To start with there were three darlings, but by the time I fetched my camera only one was still feeding...along with a brave - or foolish - magpie who often pops down to try and steal a snack.

Then foxy noticed the pigeons. They soon disappeared though and s/he seems to be heading for me instead!

The View From Up Here

I know a lot of people didn't like this episode. All I know is I wouldn't pay tuppence to live in that highrise. And being Season 4, Bobby looked so tired. Or rather Vincent did.

Final Resting Place

On Thursday Riachard III was finally buried in Leicester Cathedral. After everyone had left after the service the task began of delivering the monument that was to cover the tomb, and hoisting the solid granite slab into place.

Simple but beautiful.

Vanishing Act

I enjoyed this episode. Bobby was having such fun.

Dick's Chapel of Rest

In 2012 an excavation in a car park in Leicester found almost with the first spadeful the remains of King Richard III, the Plantagenet king of England who was killed at the Battle of Bosworth in 1485 during the Wars of the Roses. The victor was Henry Tudor, crowned as King Henry VII.

There was a lot of scientific investigation before it could be confirmed that the remains were Richard's. This was done by genealogists tracing the descendants of Richard's sister and comparing their DNA with that of the skeleton.

Thewoman in this photo, and the man on the left, are those descendants.

The coffin was made by Michael Ibsen, the male descendant, who happens to be a cabinet maker. He is Canadian, the female descendant is Australian.

The "family" wanted the remains buried in York Minster, since Richard was a member of the House of York, but the HIgh Court ruled that he should remain in Leicester.

The cortege arrived at Leicester Cathedral on a horse-drawn carriage, after being taken from the university to Bosworth Field on a gun carriage. The King was taken with dignity across the bridge where his body was brought back into the town naked and slung across a horse's back.

He returned this time with full honours.

I watched for hours with tears in my eyes. Whether he was a devil or an angel we will never know. Things like presumption of innocence and bail come from laws passed by his only government of 1485.

Richard will lie in state in the Cathedral till his interment on Thursday.

Vacancy

Bobby's looking a bit stern.

DEATH HAS CLAIMED YOU

The death of the wonderful Sir Terry Pratchett was announced on Thursday of a series of tweets from his daughter:

AT LAST, SIR TERRY, WE MUST WALK TOGETHER.
"Terry took Death's arm and followed him through the doors and on to the black desert under the endless night.
The end".

Anyone who has read his Discworld novels will know that Death always talks in capitals. Now he has met his creation in the non-flesh.

His death led the news on all channels, and the reports lasted for up to half the newscast. O Friday it was front-page news.

This must have been a mystery to anyone not familiar with the world he created. If that's you, it really is your loss.

The books started out as a gentle nudge at fantasy books, but turned into a view of our own world, from a skewed and very funny angle. Endlessly witty and inventive, Sir Terry created a world simultaneously like and unlike our own, which helped us to see the comedy in everyday life.

I read the first, The Colour of Magic, when it first came out, and after that never missed one. If you have never read any of the books, I suggest starting at the beginning and working your way through. I am jealous of the fascinating journey you will have before you reach the 40th and last.

Because of the popularity of the character of the Librarian at Unseen University (the wizards' university, where magic was constantly escaping from the books, and an errant spell turned the Librarian into a conveniently agile and long-armed orang utan) Terry took an interest in the fate of these creatures and visited a rescue centre in Borneo to make a TV programme. His fortune (he sold over 70 million books) helped him to support the Trust for their conservation financially.

Two other causes entered his life of necessity. Several years ago he was diagnosed with early onset Alzheimers. He made contributions to research, and took part in a film about his quest for a cure for what he called an "embuggerance". He was also passionate about assisted death, determined not to hang on beyond where his life was tolerable.

He died aged just 66, naturally, with his cat on his bed and his family around him. He was writing until relatively recently - he could only dictate his words, having lost the ability to type.

I can only repeat, if you have not read any of the Discworld novels, please give yourselves a treat. They are not his only works, but they are truly inspiring and amusing to the nth degree.

I will finish with my own favourite moment. Some Trolls who are fully accepted members of Discworld society form a group. Being rock, they are pretty thick. But when they form a (sorry) rock group, they can only manage to count themselves in by saying, "One, two, one, two, many, lots."

A modest but great man has left the planet.

Untethered

Poor Bobby went through so much to be a good uncle - then later, thanks to Frank's lies, the boy's mother criticised him for not doing enough.

Celebrations

I managed to snap a picture of Twiglet on the bed with Mackie. Sadly there has also been some fisticuffs. No injuries, not even any fur flying, but it has made the poor boy rather nervous.

Meanwhile, my school (the one where I teach, and at which I was also taught) celebrated its 300th anniversary. Founders' Day is always on the first Thursday in March, so parties and the school song were the order of the day.

Unrequited

I still can't believe how ordinary they made Claire Bloom look with that awful wig and dreadful costume. She is still making programmes and looks lovely for her age (84). OK, of course she dyes her hair, and has probably had some surgety, but still...

All Kitties Great and Small

I was pretty torn over the two cats that needed a home, especially as a friend told me next day that some mutual friends were going to send one of their cats to a shelter. They'd taken it on when the mother of one died a couple of years ago, and it hadn't settled with their cats.

Well, Iris and Millie had another person interested in them, so I decided to adopt the boy who was about to have his life thrown into upheaval for the second time in his nearly 13 years. I collected him yesterday.

Meet...er...Blackie:

I will gradually be changing his name...Mackie, then Mac, short for Macavity.

He is very placid and friendly. Twiglet is not convinced though. But there have been no fisticuffs.

Meanwhile, I have been back to see the tigers, and while dad was showing off his "hunting" skills (pouncing on and eating an already dead piece of meat...)

...one cub left the safety of his mother's side to try and hunt a squirrel high up on the netting roof of the enclosure, far above his head. Sadly, he couldn't find a tree high enough to climb and reach the pesky little rodent.

Undaunted Mettle

I love it when Bobby toys with people, potential perps or not.

Dilemma

Now that I only have Twiglet left, I've been planning to keep her as a sole cat, then foster for a local rescue centre when she's gone. I might even give my self a few weeks or months of zero commitments, I thought.

Then last week that same local rescue centre (which is where Twiglet and her mother Mitzi came from over 15 years ago) showed a pair of unfortunates on Twitter. One black cat, one white, 12 years old, they were owned by a drunken druggy who has gone to jail. They were neglected and underweight, with terrible teeth.

They've been built up and treated, and are now ready to be rehomed.

I expressed a vague interest "as a last resort". I guess we all know what other kind of resort is likely to come before the last resort - none.

But what if Twiglet, who has risen to her role as the only cat in the household with, er, extreme laid-back-ness, does NOT take to incomers? She was the last one in all those years ago, and has never had to accept a cat that wasn't here before her.

And yet my soft heart melts...

The Unblinking Eye

Sorry, folks, for the absence. I've had this champion cold (or whatever) virus that won't go away. Great way to spend half term holiday - coughing, voiceless and asleep all day and night! Still hasn't gone and my concert and rehearsals need me.

Anyway, this episode really threw into perspective the average man's self-centredness.