Down in the jungle something stirred ... like fifty full-grown lions. They were
most interested in Herman's safari (he's the one quivering in the car) and
gave him a welcoming roar. Too welcome.
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HERMAN - or to be precise, Mr. Peter Noone - was quite a Sleepy Joe when photographer Peter Pugh-Cook and I collected him to go off to longleat for the day. But he soon woke up when we informed him we were throwing him to the lions. Gave quite a roar of approval (or fear, depending on how you like your lions), in fact. "You must be joking," said he. "We're not," said we. And off we went to see The Lions of Longleat. The lions are what you might call the 'mane' attraction at Longleat, but Pete thought it might be better (and safer) to look at the giraffes or the zebras or the Russian bears . . . Or anything that didn't like steak a la Herman for it's dinner. We had passed the third 'Lions of Longleat' notice, complete with timely warnings to lock yourself in your car, when Pete brightened up considerably. (So did the weather at this stage.) "I know," he cried, "It's all a big con. We'll get around the next bend and lots of little chefs saying 'Fooled ya'!" Actually, we found the most super Pet's Corner instead, with the dearest little baby lion, which went to sleep in Pete's arms. A nice lady appeared with a much bigger version called Caesar, and Pete took it for a walk. Or you could say that Caesar took Pete for a walk. It soon became evident that Caesar is apt to 'Seize 'er' (or 'im!) but the big moment came when we threw Pete to the lions . . . approximately fifty of them, roaming wild. As Pete said, when he'd stopped shaking: "There's no 'claws' in my contract to cover a situation like this." |
 Sleepy Joe, that's me. I'm the Longleat baby. Came into the world with a roar a few weeks ago ... |
 I'll just have a look. My goodness, the last time I saw a mane like that it was on my dad. |