With the Minnie deed done, we set out on the long drive south to a hotel somewhere near Bath. Our base for a feed the Longleat Tigers experience.
After I’d exited employment in a “went off for a back operation and never returned” kind of way colleagues clubbed together to buy me the chance to feed the two female tigers at the south west’s main safari park.
Three spa hotel nights, paid for with freebies picked up from loyalty schemes. A long, long drive. Nearly running out of petrol. And, while Rachel pondered her lost dog, chemotherapy constipation attacked me. Despite numerous sachets of medication I simply can’t go.
Leaving the other half in the car park, a group of four of us headed off to the tigers in a zebra strip Land Rover. I needed a special step to get in. We drove off to the tiger enclosure and carried out our feeding instructions, ensuring both cats got the same amount of food and not poking any fingers through the bars.
It was a fun if relatively short experience. Feeding through the top half of the sage achieved getting the cats to stand up. Then it was done and we had the chance to go around the rest of the park. Stomach cramps partially spoiling the rest of my morning.
Now for a big decision. Do I risk going in the hot tub while my internal workings are in an awkward phase.