Breaking cover for the crocodile thing

My faith in human nature, always somewhat shaky at the best of times, has been further weakened by the discovery of a small crocodile in a Cornish lake.

Not because someone clearly thought their pet newt was getting suspiciously large and toothy and wanted to give it freedom and as many swans as it could eat: I find this eminently laudible, and swans scare me. The alternative was probably ending up as a handbag.

What upset me was that the woman who reported this to the media said that she saw what she first took be a log floating in the lake, which then went on to wink at her, so she 'chucked a stone at it, and it vanished'.

Now, mundane existence is called that for a reason. It really is, on the whole, unutterably dull. So when one's attention is caught by a winking log, here, may I be so bold to suggest, are a few of one's options.

1. Loud and sustained applause.
2. Saying to oneself 'Wheeee! I appear to be in some kind of cartoon!' and testing that suppostion by trying to make portable holes, painting railway tunnels on the side of walls and seeing if trains then enter with no danger and so on.
3. Finding the nearest group of loud, feral teenagers and crying 'Lads! A rumour abounds that last night a six-pack of cheap cider fell from an overhead aeroplane and dropped, kerplunk, into the centre of the lake. Being teetotal myself, I have no desire to appley alcoholic drinks, but I do like a tidy lake, so ten pounds to the first of you scamps who gets to the centre of the lake and sort of... splashes about a bit. That's it sir, Oh, I'm sorry miss. Either way, just reach around with your hands, nice and flappy-like...'

Not chucking a half brick at it. Just because she had a baby on her, which by the way, was in a pram, and so unlikely to be in any real danger. And even if it was, the advantage of having just one single crocodile in Cornwall far outweighs the cost of yet another pink bag of shite.


Cabinet going well, nearly finished (may spill over into next week, but just tidying really. Toy-fu back soonish (apologies all those people sent here by the now-sadly-defunct Observer blog just as I'd decided to give it a break to get the book finished).

Back Sundayish.