This week we take a trip to Milan, a city once conquered by Napoleon. I am in possession of a clock that was once owned by Monsieur Bonaparte. IT TICKS! I gaze, transfixed into its dial. IT TOCKS! We are as one. The Zoo is known as the Associazione Creatura Milano or AC Milan, for that is its name. Founded in 1899 by two fine gentlemen, Alfred Edwards and Herbert Kilpin. Bred of good Nottingham stock, strong as fence posts, bold as brass. BR-R-RITISH! The days of Empire, rule Britannia and the chorus of bread boys in the morning.
But enough of this idle chin wagging, THE ANIMALS STUART! I hear you cry it heartily, with whiskey-soaked passion, like Alex Ferguson ordering a takeaway from his local. They can’t make him out with their sideways ears. NO, SET MENU D, D, for Darren, DAMN YOU CHINA-MAN! But fear not, for my ears are large, upright and alert and I will heed your pleas, as a benevolent King would feed his starving peasants.
We must start with the most recent and lauded acquisition, a real jewel in the crown, majestic, playful TOOTHY! I give you R-r-r-ronaldinho, poet, painter, Llama. We take time to watch him lollop about, but we only see what once was true. Paradise lost; he has a smile on his face, but bits of food in his matted fur. We move on, disappointed? NO! There is much more to be seen!
This is my 7th coming, I have been here before. 5 of my previous incarnations were in human form BUT once I came back as a horse. MAGNIFICENT! Black as coal and shiny as silk. I GALLOPED AS FREEEEE as only a stallion can be. Our next exhibit knows this freedom (Ed: Are you quite sure Stuart? He’s in a zoo), for he is that pretty shire horse Pirlo, his mane swaying like a dreamcatcher by an open window. CATCH MY DREAMS, even the bad ones. Fear him not, for inside that awesome body is a beautiful soul; a weightlifting poet.
Our next little friend is not a friend at all. QUIET EVERYONE! You may not see him, but he sees you; THERE! Over by the bushes! Do you see him now?! It is the little warthog Gattuso! During previous life number 3 I found myself on the very soil we walk on today, Italy, ROME! I spent my free time partaking in some of the more masochistic orgies of Caligula, BUT when not up to my balls in slave I would hunt boar, naked as the day I was born! The chief zookeeper took great pains to convince me that he was fearsome, but when I threw in a passing child to prove this hypothesis, Gattuso was content to mer-r-r-r-rely charge him once, then stomp around beating his warthog chest.
That my friends just about… NO! NOT SO FAST, I had almost forgotten. The final exhibit is rarely seen; some forget he is even here at all. AC Milan have loaned a rare alopecial sloth from a very attractive zoo in London. He is called Senderos. Some children throw nuts at him, he looks perplexed as he fails to intercept a single one. The sun dial indicates that our time is up.
I will leave you comrades with a final thought: I was once made love to by a lion and I’ve never forgotten it, they’re very loveable people. The lion in question went on to a circus and immediately killed the trainer HA HAAH! He was called Blanco, by the way. You may have seen him playing for Mexico. Big, powerful, BRRRUTISH! Yet tender, supple, COIL-ED like a spring. He shoots, GOAL! He dribbles, GOAL! He gets substituted, GOAL! He gets involved with Mexican drug lords, GAOL!
I wish you, as always, a fond farewell.