Odobenus rosmarus

A short while back, we went for lunch with some friends at Horniman’s Museum. I’ve mentioned the place in the past and it is a smashing little museum in South East London, with a working bee hive made of glass, a terrific sound proof music room in which your budding Alicia Keys or Mark Ronson can impress you (and those around them) with their musical ear, and more stuffed animals and skeletons than you’ve had hot dinners.

Well, about a hundred at any rate.

Hang on, why am I telling you this?

Oh yes. In the very centre of the main room is an absolutely gi-normous stuffed walrus which was kindly donated to the United Kingdom in the late 1890’s, I think as a gift to Queen Victoria. (She can’t have taken that very well I’m sure??)

Anyhoo, apart from the fact that the walrus itself is about 8 feet tall, it is also sat up on a plinth shaped like an iceberg, adding another 3 feet to it’s overall height, making it very imposing and, as far as Annabel is concerned, bloody scary!

Hold that thought.

Yesterday, at the end of a party that Joseph had been invited to, the child’s mother handed out party bags and, wouldn’t you know it, the boys party bag’s ran out as it got to his turn. This wouldn’t have been so bad were it not for the fact that he had seen the contents of his friend’s bag’s and he was well aware that they contained a Red Power Ranger.

And our survey says? Uh-uhhhhhhhhh!

I have to hand it to him, he waited until we got outside before letting his face fall (kudos Son, kudos) but boy did it fall. M was putting his seat belt across him as I was strapping Annabel into her seat and, as I felt very sorry for him I said, “Don’t worry Poops, we’ll stop off at Woolworth’s on the way home and see if they have any small Power Ranger’s for you there”.

At this, Annabel started shaking her head and sobbing. I looked at her, wondering if I’d caught her hair in a strap or something and asked what was wrong.

“I don’t like the walrus”, she wailed, “I don’t like it, waaaahhhhhhhhh”.

We allowed ourselves a laugh at her expense.

“WOOLWORTH’S Annabel, not WALRUS”, I explained.

Her relief was obvious.

Bless her heart!