I am minded to write about an eruption of reptiles, such is the paucity of excitement in my life right now.
It is 5.37am on the morning of Valentine’s Day, and I am beset with a hideous fever.
Truth be told, I am being melodramatic here — it’s only a kind of weird infection paralysing my skull down the right hand side. There are no shivery-wivery bugs grasping at my every platelet like a Twilight vampire sucking on a neck.
However, the upshot is that all I have right now for inspiration is reptiles, bursting onto the page with scaly circus bravado.
If I am honest, I would love to keep lizards...somewhere. Not big ones, not the ones the size of your leg or a dalmatian. That is an uncomfortable amount of reptile, and I would be looking over my shoulder all the time to see if they were communing with the spirits of long-dead T Rexes with a view to ushering in a New Age of Dinosaur Terror.
I like the small ones, the wibbly flibbly ones — the kind that inhabit sunny French walls and go eeee eeee eeee like poorly kittens or newborn mice. That is what I miss so much about France — the incessant, locust-like chorus of lizard squeaks, lofted into the warm night air like an exuberance of eggy farts.
Perhaps I should invest in an enclosure first, just to be sure I am happy with the overall concept. I believe reptile enclosures are like glass versions of rabbit hutches, and while most are designed to inhabit shelves and purpose-built tables, I would suspend mine from the ceiling by delicate lengths of chain, possibly metal ropes weaved from the necklaces of virgins.
I estimate that an enclosure of this kind would need a test run of three to four months. I’d want to be sure I could maintain the core temperature at a lizard-friendly level without burning the house down as I incinerated paper and cushions in the furnace built onto the side, and I’d have to ensure that the dangle factor of the overhead structure did not prohibit my taller house guests from standing fully upright.
But, after this, the lizards could go straight in, there to erupt.
It is my sincere belief that I have begun this Valentine’s Day in good heart and displayed considerable imaginary generosity to mankind’s least furry friends (other than fish).
It only remains for me to direct one and all to a cool new blog threatening to take the internet by storm with its unfolding glories.
The effortlessly fun Jane Volker is walking round Ireland, documenting her adventures as she goes. Compared to tales of me shuffling around my living room in my slippers, it is certain to be an exhilarating read. Hey — compared even to Arnie shuffling round his Californian bunker retreat in his slippers while alien hordes bomb the fuck out of Los Angeles, Jane’s new walking blog is certain to be an exhilarating read.
You can pick it up here.
(This is what I got when I googled 'irish lizard'. Isn't the internet such a deliverer of unbridled excitment?)