The Silver Pipistrelle

I know I talked about “Batman Begins” quite recently, but seriously, this is relevant. Sort of. Well, slightly.

As part of our “3 weeks cooling our heels in central London” adventure, I took Small Boy to London Zoo yesterday. For him, it was all about the giraffes, and the monkeys fighting over a lettuce heart (who made me go all Johnny Morris). And I’ll admit the otters were sweet. As were the meerkats–now there’s an animal I feel sorry for: to have forty school-kids leering over you and shouting: “Simples!” all bloody day.

But, for me, it’s the bats. It’s always the bats: I love them, and can’t for the life of me understand people who don’t. They’re just all kinds of awesome. So I hauled a grumpy three year-old down to the “Nocturnal” section and stood in front of the bat cave.

Yes, the bat cave.

And yes, it did make me feel a bit like this:

(By the way: a sign you’re really rich? You’re quite happy to go slithering around a cave wearing a cashmere / wool blend coat.)

I have no idea whether it’ll be the right time of year, but something I’d really like to do while I’m over in Austin for World Horror this spring is to go and watch the bat flight from Congress Avenue Bridge.

It looks just a little bit excellent.

Love them or hate them, you’ve got to admit there’s something about them, isn’t there?



    1. Amazing little things, aren’t they? I always wanted one as a pet when I was a kid. We had guinea pigs instead – which are cute, but somehow they’re not quite the same.

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