Foxes: 7, Serena: Nil

Hello!

First, apologies (again) for my prolonged absence. I've had a few things on my mind in the last couple of weeks, which have been a bit worrying and distracting and not really the sort of thing you'd blog about.

Anyway, I thought I'd pop by to give you an update on the work I've been doing with the London Wildcare Trust. I've now been volunteering (one day a week) for over a month, and I'm absolutely in my element.

Here are some furry fellows - past and present - that the wildlife hospital has helped. These shots have been taken from the Trust's website and Facebook group:

This last pic is of Dog, one of the hospital's resident foxes. Dog was brought in as an orphaned fox cub several years ago.

Staff and volunteers are always very careful to ensure the animals don't become too comfortable with humans (so they're able to be released back into the wild). However, Dog 'imprinted' on the staff from day one, and decided every human was her friend. That meant, of course, that she couldn't be released; and she still behaves exactly like an affectionate dog, hence her name!

In the last few weeks I've learnt so much about caring for British wildlife, and I feel very privilege to be involved. Some days I'm in the 'general ward', pitting my wits against wily foxes as I try to clean them out (I think the score is currently foxes: 7, Serena: Nil).

Other duties include scrubbing out the waterfowl ponds, feeding and watering the hedgehogs (try coaxing out one of those spiky bad boys...) and lots more.

For example, if you'd been wandering through south London last week, you may have found me on my hands and knees, in a suburban park, cutting the grass with a small pair of scissors.

What? No no, this wasn't a novel form of community service... the ducks feed by sifting through food floating in trays of water and mixed with grass. Someone had to get hold of that grass!

I'm pleased to say that from now on, I'll also be writing a regular column for the Trust's website. Aimed at children, it will explain exactly what British wildlife is up to during each month of the year.

And it will also include a 'Get stuck in!' section, highlighting action we can all take to help our local wildlife as the seasons change. I'll let you know when my first column is published online.

Finally - the London Wildcare Trust has just put together a 'wish list' of items and equipment it really needs to continue its amazing work. On the off-chance any Bill Gates/captains of industry are reading this, that wish list is here.

So if anyone has a commercial grade pop-up gazebo - or a 3.2Kva generator you're looking to get rid of, could you pop it in the post?

Just because MC Hammer is doing it...

Some adverts genuinely terrify me. This one - featuring MC Hammer plugging Cash4Gold - comes pretty high on the list. His phrase 'we meltin' gold baby!' just puts the icing on the cake.

Image via CardiganAlly

Postal gold companies specialise in flash, celeb-led ads during daytime TV breaks. What they don't seem to specialise in is actually giving you much money for your gold.

And there are loads of the buggers. Cash4Gold, Money4Gold, Sell My Gold, How Cash For Gold, Got Gold Get Cash, Post Gold for Cash, Best Price for Gold and Cash My Gold - to name but a few. Do you think they might be trying to tell us something?

As some of you will know, when not taking photos, running away from wild animals or generally messing about, I work as a consumer journalist.

I've just presented a video on all the reasons you should treat postal gold companies with EXTREME CAUTION. And I've also talked about how you can get a fair price for any scrap gold you want to flog.

You can watch the video here. As always, any comments re: eyebrows, weird expressions or general odd demeanor will be much appreciated...

Oompa-loompa goes on holiday...

First, thank you so much for the lovely comments, condolences and support about my micelets. It's made a rather crap time a whole lot more bearable, and I really, really appreciate it.

Now, on to happier subjects, and some ridiculous happenings. As I mentioned, last week I got back from skiing in Zermatt, Switzerland with my chap.

We had a fantastic time - and (miraculously) we still have all our arms, legs and heads attached at the right angles.

My other half is a rather ace snowboarder. I, though I snowboard a bit, had not been skiing since a school ski trip aged 14 (when - if my memory serves - they had to carry me off the mountain because I developed such a bad headache I couldn't see. Urrgh).

As you can imagine, the potential for hilarity was enormous.

I feel three events served to dramatically punctuate my time on the slopes...

1.) The time I almost got eaten by a chair lift.

At the end of the lift's course, I leapt deftly off it and skied elegantly towards the barriers. Or rather I would have done, had my rucksack strap not been caught in the seat.

What actually happened was my chap got off, and I got carried, kicking and screaming, all the way round to the big empty drop. Just as I began dribbling in terror, picturing myself dangling 50 feet above the snow by a single thread, the lift operator (woke up?), stopped the lift and dragged me from its jaws. Cue much Swiss guffawing.

2.) The time I tried to make a fast and sudden turn.

Needless to say my legs didn't agree with my brain, and I ended up head-and-shoulders first in a huge pile of powder. Yup, just my feet sticking out.

My chap roared away and wheezed that he'd never seen anything so funny - bemoaning the fact that the camera was in my bag, under all that snow. However, in the soaring flight and plummeting descent, both my skis had fallen off. He soon stopped laughing when he realised he'd have to climb back up the hill to help me find them.

3.) The time my chap and I ended up in the middle of a dog photo shoot.

Long story short, we both tried the same biggish jump one after the other - and neither of us managed to stop afterwards. Unfortunately, a few yards after the jump there was a spot where tourists paid to pose with a gigantic St Bernard.

He went over the jump, skidded around a bit and fell over. I came over after him, skidded around a bit and fell on him. The momentum of that started us moving again - and a few seconds later we glided smoothly into the St Bernard shoot... with my face planted firmly in his crotch. If that isn't a unique tourist photo I don't know what is.

Pictures of me making a tit of myself? Oh, go on then.

We went ice skating too... "Wolli the sheep" was meant to help four year-olds get around the rink safely...

I may need to hone my photography skills. I kept saying "don't worry about the top of the sodding Matterhorn, just make sure you get the beer!".

Under that helmet and goggles, there is an oompa-loompa on a mission.

And you know when you think you look like a ruthless, awe-inspiring ninja? You generally don't.