rARsh!

If a picture can paint 1,000 words …

… what’s the value of a Venn diagram?

Let’s see:

Put another way, just like George Lucas, I keep having another episode. Hopefully, though, mine won’t come in threes.

And won’t feature Jar-Jar Binks.

Stephen Fry’s series The Secret Life of the Manic Depressive was interesting but worrying last night. Interesting because of the personal angle and worrying for the same reason - especially the obsessive impulse purchases and disclination to interact socially when “episoding”.

Yesterday, for example, I just couldn’t leave the house until the anonymity of night had fallen - at which time I felt ok, of course, so headed over to Tall Andy. Luckily Kitten answered the phone so I was able to asked whether Tall Andy could come out to play. We had a chat while I took him for a spin around the city centre (and while he checked in vain whether there was space in a Copen for Sam’s pushchair).

It was a different matter this morning, though. My trio of alarm clocks did their job and woke me in plenty of time but the idea of going in to work made me literally ill. After an hour of failing to psych myself up, I spoke to Tall Andy. He wasn’t at all surprised, apparently, and clear hadn’t believed my parting “See you tomorrow” lsat night.

I was determined to leave the house before nightfall, though, and so set off through the twisty lanes to who-knows-where. I was heading towards Earlsham on the A143 when I spotted a sign to The Otter Trust [map]. It had been shut the last time I came this way (and it’s only open until Friday) so I took this as an omen and turned off.

I was there before the trust itself opened at 10:30 but the information room was open and it was there that I met some friendly little harvest mice. The main doors were soon open (admission £6, btw, which works out at less than 50ppo). There are a lot of grounds to cover with an assortment of ducks and geese but the stars of the show are, of course, the otters.

So there I was, enjoying the empty fields and the company of my new hairy friends when I felt a tugging on my jacket.

I’d been snuck up upon by a fallow deer who’d decided that my jacket looked edible.

“Sod off, fallow deer.” I responded wittily. “That’s my jacket. Gerroff.”

I wandered away to see other otters but my new friend was sticking close. In fact, it wasn’t until other humans arrived a while later that I managed to shake her off (and only then by feeding her a small, teddy-wielding child).

The others were arriving because twelve o’clock is Feeding Time.

Now, can you spot the odd one out in these remaining pictures?

Yes, you’re right. That last photo is of some very, very timid Muntjac Deer. The staff at the trust think they have eleven of the little deer in the grounds but the deer are so shy, they can’t be sure and there may be one or two more The other photos are of the native British (a.k.a Eurasian) Otter and of the Asian short-clawed otter.

This little excursion seems to have taken a lot out of me, so I headed back to the sanctuary of rARsh Manor and safety.