Circling raccoons and creaking swings

Freezing cold, windy visit to local petting zoo. Didn't see anyone petting, practically no other people there actually, apart from a couple of other desperate mothers trying to while away the long and dreary afternoon. Hedda got attacked by a herd of deer who mistook her camera for a packet of animal food. A man was sluicing out the drains purely in our honour. (Drains are nasty at the best of times, but I think zoo drains are even worse than most.) But the overriding memory for me will be that of Stromi, a raccoon destined to spend his life going round and round in circles, breaking the cycle only briefly to move to the other side of his cage and then start again. Wisely, the zoo people had put up a sign. This explained that Stromi had a problem with 'the organ that controls balance' (isn't that the brain?) and 'can't help endlessly revolving' but that they decided to keep him anyway, because of his kind and friendly raccoonality. Poor Stromi. It was indeed a tragic sight, particularly as his cage-mates were engaged in procreative activities and seemed to visibly resent his dizzy-making presence. As all children seem to do these days, our collective rushed past the animals and bestowed no more than a glance on the avian exhibits, all in a bid to reach the playground as soon as possible, for that, of course, is why the parents pay twenty euros - who needs wildlife? A fifty-year-old swing and broken trampoline are what really make the day.