BECKY SHEAVES

LAST week I went to London and back in a day to see family. We are so busy here at the farm right now that this was all the time I could spare. But I just had to go.

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My brother and his family were over from their home in France for just a week. They have 18-month-old twins who are completely adorable and I was desperate to see them. Along with my sister and her two children (who live in the capital) we all agreed to meet in London Zoo for a day out.

Now, I hadn't been to this world-famous zoo since childhood. I have to confess, my memories were not favourable and my heart did not leap with joy at the prospect. Back then, in the '70s, the 36-acre site was a gloomy place. I remember Guy the Gorilla sitting on his own in a bare concrete box behind a toughened glass window, looking thoroughly miserable. It was a sort of Hannibal Lecter style arrangement. Not so much zoo as high-security incarceration. Elsewhere, a grubby-looking polar bear was trapped in a sunken concrete pit with a ring of gawping tourists peering down at him. Even at the age of six, I felt sure this couldn’t be right. Why were these animals kept on their own with nothing to do?