The Further Adventures of an Idiot Abroad (31 page)

The others had plastic covers on their legs that gave the impression they were wearing rings but without the weight. It wasn’t easy for them to get up from the seated
position as the rings got in the way of their knees bending.

The King that I was waiting to cook for was running late, so they said they wanted to paint my caravan. I explained it wasn’t mine and that I had hired it, but they insisted and said it
would easily wash off. They wandered over with a bucket filled with what looked like mud, but it turned out to be cow shit. I was already £2,500 out of pocket from the bungee, and suddenly I
had caravan vandalism to pay for too. They said it would be fine. Francina stuck her hand in and started spreading it on the caravan. It was nothing like the art they had on their walls. It was
like some kind of dirty protest. Luke said I shouldn’t cause any upset, as using diluted cow dung was the traditional way of finger painting. Back in the day it acted as a natural bug
repellent. I suppose if you have shit all over the outside of your house it keeps the flies out the kitchen.

I stuck my hand in and copied the squiggly lines in a triangular shape that Francina had done. It took me a lot longer than it took her. The phrase ‘She ran rings around me’ has
never been more apt.

The King still hadn’t turned up. Just as well, to be honest, as it gave me time to get all the cow shit from under me nails. I then put some crisps, shortbread biscuits, wiggly worms and a
couple of apples on a plate. At this point he turned up. So I popped the beans on to warm up.

I went to greet him and put my arm out to shake his hand, but he just nodded his head in a way that suggested I was not allowed to shake his hand.

He wasn’t your bog standard-looking king. He was wearing the skin of what looked like a cheetah and carrying a shield that was covered in lionskin.

I joined in and danced but I couldn’t enjoy it. Dancing isn’t something you can do when you’re fed up. It’s the same with whistling. I then remembered I had left the
beans on the gas, so I did a moonwalk back to the caravan.

That was when I realised I had no toaster. I had to cook the bread directly on top of the flame on the hob. I tried a bit, as all chefs should. I could taste the gas, but seeing as they’d
never had this before I didn’t think it would be a problem. It would be like me eating stale hummus, I wouldn’t have a clue. I was struggling to open the cheese slices when they flew
everywhere, the beans were bubbling and the toast was burning.

I’m not that good at multi-tasking. Multi-tasking to me is sending emails while sat on the toilet.

I asked Luke to take over the plate of starters. He said he wasn’t taking it over as he was embarrassed by it. ‘You created it, you should take it,’ he said. I took the crisps,
wiggly worms, shortbread biscuits and the two apples over. They all tucked in. Luke wanted me to explain the dish, but I said they should just be left to eat it. I hate it when chefs come up and
start telling me where the chicken lived and what its name was. Just let me eat it.

I finished off the meal for the King with the chocolate sponge and custard.

I hated the whole experience.

I was knackered and wanted to go to bed. But I had to wash all the cups and pans I had used. I wanted to get it sorted rather than have to face it in the morning. Plus, there are loads of
insects knocking about due to the shit on the side of the caravan. I didn’t want to have my crockery caked in ants after leaving them out all night. Ants have an ability to hunt down any
sweet stuff, so I washed up in total darkness using some V05 shampoo and a toilet roll to dry up.

Ricky left me a message the next day. He wanted me to get involved in a major animal conservation project. I’d be helping to relocate a wild rhino at the Entabeni nature
reserve. Rhinos are one of the most endangered species. The main problem seems to be poachers killing them for their horns, which seems really wasteful, like killing a human for their tonsils. The
list of endangered species seems to be getting longer all the time.

I wonder how many of these species are still doing something useful for the planet if there aren’t many left. Maybe they were important many years ago but are now just hanging around, a
bit like Ceefax.

Pandas have been in the news a lot recently. I don’t know what to make of them. They don’t seem to help themselves. I keep hearing that the main issue is that humans are ripping up
all the bamboo they eat, so they struggle to find food, but maybe they just have to find something new to eat. They seem really stubborn, a bit like Suzanne’s dad who has a strict routine
when it comes to his eating habits. He’s in his sixties but he’s never had Indian food, Chinese food or pasta. Maybe as well as us changing our ways to save the planet, pandas have to
change a bit as well. Badgers have that white line down their back. They always seem to be found dead in the middle of the road, so did this happen so they fitted in with road markings. Makes you
wonder, doesn’t it?

Something that keeps cropping up is cloning and how in the next few years scientists may be able to bring the woolly mammoth back to life using DNA. This is all very clever, but I think
it’s wrong. If it didn’t work first time round why bring them back? It’s like a Steps Reunion tour.