Day 120. All aboard.

Today I rode the bus. Well, a rail replacement bus. Here are 5 things I noticed:

1. It's very quiet on a bus. No one spoke much. The woman next to me asked me to check something with the driver, which was interesting because she was deaf, so our conversation was short and functional as my sign language skills are non-existent and she clearly didn't want to chat with a stranger.
2. The driver's chair has its own suspension system and bounces unnervingly as the coach bumps its way along the country roads. Seriously, I'd be nauseous.
3. No one asks for money or a ticket when you board a rail replacement bus. No one. You walk out of the station and onto the bus. Obviously it's not going to stop anywhere other than at the train stations on the line but even so, I paid for my ticket, at least check it.
4. 'I can see the pub from here!' The view along a road I drive on frequently is transformed on a coach with clear views across the water and the fields beyond. And yes, the obligatory tractor is up ahead. Good old Norfolk. No journey would be complete without one.
5. It's very quiet on a bus. I've said that already I know but it really is. No kindred spirit chit chat, not much moaning about the inconvenience once our journey was underway and not even a hint that people would be prepared to take part in a sing song. Once when I was on a bus in Liverpool, a woman I'd never met, asked if I wanted to see her holiday snaps. Fond memories. Not on this bus. 

So no singing, a minuscule amount of chat to question the driver and although I left the office early, I arrived home later than usual.

Today I rode the bus and it was actually quite good.

Day 119. Supermarket wars.

Opposite the biggest Sainsbury's I have ever shopped in, work is underway to build a Tesco which I'm led to believe may be bigger still.

Kings Lynn, the town where both of these monstermarkets reside, has a population of about 44,000 people. It would be impossible to contemplate  that neither retailer had looked into the market opportunity for siting its store here, with each store manager able to stare across the main road at its main competitor, but still. Two super-sized grocers on the same road. I wonder what in-store enticements Tesco will use to lure customers back once it opens later this year? Watch this space.

Day 118. Stinking bishop.

I don't eat cheese. It's not because I don't like it but rather it doesn't like me. This is particularly frustrating when I see a sight like this; the cheese stall at Cambridge market. Sometimes I'm tempted to risk the vomiting and just eat some anyway. Here are a few facts about some of the cheeses in this photo:

Stinking Bishop has been produced since 1972, the year after I was born, in Gloucestershire.

Suffolk Gold is a semi-hard farmhouse cheese which apparently goes well with oatcakes and apple.

Cambridge Blue makes an excellent accompaniment to chocolate and parma ham. How can I dispute that when I can't eat it?

If you're in Cambridge and try one of this spectacular looking cheeses, do me a favour, let me know how they taste.

Day 117. Cloudbusting.

Whenever I see clouds like this I want to fire up a cloudbuster and see if I can make it rain.

If that makes no sense to you then you haven't enjoyed the magnificence of Kate Bush's Cloudbusting video. It's a work of art; beautifully shot.

The song is based on Peter Reich's "A Book of Dreams" and Terry Gilliam helped Kate to develop the concept for the video which stars Donald Sutherland as Willhelm Reich - sadly we don't hear that distinctive voice - and Kate Bush as his son Peter. It's really a short film to accompany the captivatingly hypnotic lyrics. As you can tell I'm a big fan.

Here it is: Cloudbusting.

Day 116. Don't blink.

I did and my 8 year old grew up. Here she is heading off to the Brownie disco. She returned saying she felt queasy from all the dancing which I can only assume means they were doing that school age classic of holding hands and spinning each other around as the only time I feel sick when dancing is because there's alcohol involved. I'm assured that orange juice and biscuits were the only refreshments on offer at the Downham Methodist Church.

One of my favourite episodes of Dr Who (not just because David Tennant is the Doctor although that's a bonus) is 'Blink' with the weeping angels and the Dr's message repeated over and over, "Don't blink. Whatever you do, do not blink."

I blinked. I'll try harder from now on.

Day 115. Pukka.

Poor sleep calls for a night time remedy that offers further earning potential for the already over-exposed Jamie Oliver.

Now facing my fifth night of being unable to get to sleep this is my attempt at creating the right environment for zzzzzs. It tastes better than it smells (I should work in marketing).

Night all.

Day 114. Musing.

These arrived in the post this morning and in just one month's time this is where we'll be. That includes Bea. She loves Muse. Hopefully she'll still love them after the PA system is turned up to 11 and the sound waves have shredded her eardrums.

I'm ignoring the fact the gig takes place at the Emirates Stadium. You can't always have it all.

The boys from Teignmouth did good. Do it again on May 25th please.

Day 113. Stuck indoors.

A spectacular blue sky is clearly visible above the building opposite the office.

Perhaps it's warm outside.

I wouldn't know.

I'm stuck indoors.

Which is typical.

Day 112. ¡Que aproveche!

Behind these doors a smörgåsbord of taste sensations awaits you. No that's not right. This is a Spanish restaurant, it's not Swedish. Basically the food here is exceptionally good.

Introduced to me by someone who knows a thing or two about good food, Ibérica in Marylebone leaves you spoilt for choice and I've been lucky enough to eat here on more than one occasion.

Try the jamón Ibérico, chorizo lollipops with pear alioli and the paella, accompanied by a glass or two of cava or fino. You won't be disappointed.

¡Que aproveche!

Day 111. Den building.

Tucked away behind the wendy house, aka Bea's Club House, there's some landscaping work underway. Really unsure what she's doing but it involves collecting the soil from the mole hills that have appeared around the garden and then using this to create this little den. I'm happy to leave her to it and she's happy that's the case. I wish I'd had a garden like ours when I was a kid. Lucky girl.

Day 110. Record Store Day.

It's Record Store Day. Launched originally in the US in 2007 and then the UK jumped on board shortly after. If this is a day that's passed you by previously here's a bit of history.

This is the vinyl seller in Kings Lynn; clearly adopting the Ronseal strap line as inspiration when it came to branding the shop. We don't have a working turntable in our house at the moment so The Record Shop is not somewhere I head to but I do have a certain fondness for the boxes of vinyl we own. Maybe it's time to resurrect them and blow Bea's mind at the same time: "Music? On large, black, plastic discs?" Yep, worth it just for that.

Day 109. Kings Lynn and the Sinagapore connection.

Coles of Kings Lynn is not the easiest place to find mainly because although they have a retail shop (I use this term lightly) they mainly supply to trade customers. Hidden away in a small business park, their selection is always varied and includes fresh fish, smoked fish and plenty of seafood. And if there's something you need for a particular recipe a call to them a few days before and they can usually help you out.

Today I picked up a bag of crab claws and 500g clams and it was happy days at home with Singapore Chili Crab to start, followed by Spaghetti Vongole; the perfect kick start to the weekend.

Here's the recipe for the crab courtesy of Rick Stein:

Singapore Chili Crab

• 2 x 900g crabs (I buy pre-cooked crab claws but you can use fresh crab)
• 4 tbsp groundnut or sunflower oil
• 4 fat garlic cloves
• 2.5cm piece of fresh ginger
• 4 tbsp tomato ketchup
• 3 red chilies
• 2 tbsp dark soy sauce
• 150ml water
• black pepper
• 2 spring onions finely shredded lengthways

1. Heat the oil in a large wok. Add the crab and stir-fry for 3 minutes, adding the garlic and ginger after 1 minute.

2. Add the ketchup, chilies, soy sauce, water, pepper and juices from the back shell (if the crab was cooked fresh). Cover and simmer over medium heat for 2-3 minutes.

3. Spoon the crab into a large serving plate and sprinkle with the spring onions.

Serves 4.

108. Oh nuts. It's crackers.

Well the nuts are ok because they're safely stored in an aesthetically pleasing Kilner jar but the crackers were always doomed.

Already opened, packet balanced precariously on top of a box of Crackerbread, they didn't stand a chance. Not when I, at just 5' 2", was the one trying to get them out of the cupboard, from the top shelf, while balancing clumsily on Converse clad tiptoes. There was no slow motion involved as they tipped forwards, bounced beautifully off my jumper - a partly cushioned landing it's fair to say - before exploding out of their yellow cellophane and smashing all over the worktop, covering me in crumbs as they went.

That, my friends, is why there is a place for everything and clearly everything was not in it. It's the diet's fault.

Day 107. Big old parochial news.

There's been much tutting in the village of Roxham this week after West Norfok Council made changes to the bin collection service over the Easter holidays.

Before you think I'm about to complain that the bins are collected less frequently or they're now too small, the changes are actually very sensible but it would seem that the transition from the previous schedule to the new one has been far from smooth.

When I saw this headline, yes headline, on the front page of our local paper my immediate reaction was to smile; so it's not just the home owners of Ryston and Roxham questioning 'Have we got the right day?' or 'Did we misunderstand what goes in which bin?'. And even though our bins weren't collected for two weeks somehow we have managed not to disappear under a pile of our own wastefulness, although we have wasted many minutes jumping up to look out of the window only to realise it's just another tractor not the bin lorry.

Parochial news. Sometimes there really is a place for it. Clearly that place is here in West Norfolk.

Day 106. In that there London.

When I was researching a Great Gatsby themed party last year this venue was top of my list: One Marylebone, a 19th Century, Grade I listed former church, designed by Sir John Soame. It may be architecturally significant but it's easy to miss like so many buildings in London.

If you're one of the 9.6m people who've watched Tom Fletcher's wedding speech, the boy from McFly for those that didn't, the wedding was held here.

Despite being directly opposite Great Portland Street tube, most evenings I fail to notice it as I head into the station but tonight I actually stopped and took some photos.

One Marylebone; one of London's grand dames.

Day 105. You'll never walk alone.

Forgive me but I'm going to break my rule today and post a picture that I haven't taken. 

My Nan had eleven children and there were reds and blues amongst them.  She was a red, so is my Dad. I remember watching a match with her when I was little and she popped a pair of red pants on her head for luck. It's alright they were clean. Like so many Liverpool families there was good humoured rivalry between the two sides and Derby days provided fond memories of much laughter; loud, boisterous, family days. When my Nan died they played 'You'll Never Walk Alone' at her funeral and the effect was profound. I'd sung that song so many times in the past but from then on its meaning was deeply rooted.

I think this painting by Mackenzie Thorpe captures the mood of today beautifully - I hope he doesn't mind me pinching this image. I'm a Scouser, it's par for the course obviously.

As I've already posted, twenty four years ago today friends and family headed off to a football match at Hillsborough. Luckily for me they all came home but for them it's a day they will never forget. Each year I feel the bond with my home city and get in touch with the people I love who were there that day. I want them to know that they, and the people they lost, are in my thoughts. 

You'll never walk alone. Find my Nan. She's the one with the pants on her head.

Day 104. What's the recipe for a great cookbook?

When I asked the question: "Are recipe only cookbooks becoming less important with the ability to find any recipe online or do you still rely on them in your house?", unsurprisingly the response was that people use both. It's something I've been thinking about for a while because for me a cookbook that simply contains recipes is not enough any more. If I want a recipe I can usually find it online and although I still refer back to tried and trusted favourites, new cookbook purchases are usually made based on what else they have to offer. Are they beautifully illustrated? Do they tell a story? Are the recipes based on seasonal or regional availability?

But then when I flick through one of my old recipe books like Rick Stein's Taste of the Sea or Jamie's The Naked Chef I remember that a cookbook can be so much more than just a collection of ingredients and instructions. It's a joyful reminder of times spent with friends and family.

Nigel Slater's The Kitchen Diaries is picking parsnips in the field behind our house before preparing a sausage and parsnip casserole. Nigella Express and her recipe for triple chocolate chip cookies and I'm at our house in Abbots Ripton baking a batch to share with the Sugdens as we settle down with the kids to watch a Dr Who Easter special. The book about The Ivy describes wonderfully a day in the life of one of the world's most famous restaurants and it's a winter's evening with eight friends serving Thai Baked Sea Bass and Lamb Shanks. And Yummy! by Jane Clarke provided the recipe for Bea's 2nd birthday cake - sugar free but totally delicious.

This pile of books which might seem predictable or uninspiring to many, is like a culinary photo album for me and the reason why I'm certain I'll never rely purely on the web.

Thanks to those that replied to my question last week;  rest assured, I'm already compiling a list of the cookbooks you love, maybe they'll join this pile of pre-loved ones someday soon.

Day 103. Simply divine.

Another Saturday, another trip to Cambridge.

For many years this glorious piece of architecture on Trinity Street was hidden behind hoardings as it underwent a makeover before being unveiled towards the end of 2012. The Divinity School is owned by St John's College (housed in more stunning buildings directly opposite this one) and has been revamped for use by the college's students as well as being available for conference hire. That's a relief as there was talk of turning this into a bar at one point. Heaven forbid what next? King's becomes a soft play centre or Emmanuel College a lido?

My own university experience was steeped in its own history, if you can count 1960s holiday camp style on the edge of Warrington as historic. Clearly not even on the same scale as this. Although I wouldn't swap the experiences I had or the friends I made at North Cheshire College for the pomp and circumstance of Cambridge. Not a chance. "We are Padgate, very merry Padgate!" Happy days.

Well, maybe a few of the friends. And a handful of the experiences. It is Cambridge after all.

Simply divine.

Day 102. I've been expecting you.

It's hard to believe that I am only now getting round to watching Skyfall but there it is. As Stromberg said to Bond in The Spy Who Loved Me: "Good evening Mrs H, we've been expecting you." Well, clearly he said Mr Bond but you get the picture.

It may have taken longer than anticipated but the moment has finally arrived.

Wine? Check. Sea salt chocolate? Check. Already been told what happens to M? Check. By a 10 year old? Check.

Let's do this.

Day 101. No more jolly japes.

Enid Blyton books have changed haven't they?

School tunic is now uniform, swotters are bookworms and Nobby's had his name changed to Ned. Political correctness gone mad? Not quite, try reading it out loud to your own child without sniggering at all the Dicks and Fannys. Seriously it's no mean feat.

But should we really update books that we read as children so that our own offspring can engage with them more readily or should we leave them as they are encouraging debate and maintaining history? Racist and offensive comments I can understand but language that roots a book in a different era, I'm not convinced it's necessary. There's certainly no shortage of contemporary fiction available if it's not to a child's taste.

What ho Dick! Time for lashings of ginger beer.

Day 100. Pure imagination.

My hundredth post. Who'd have thought I'd make it this far and of course today, day 100,  I had nowhere to be and little opportunity for an interesting photo. So here's a staged one instead.

Most days I'm enjoying the challenge although some days I have too many photos to choose from and others hardly any - still I set the rules and the first rule of photo-a-day blog is don't mention photo-a-day blog. No, that can't be right, the first rule of photo-a-day blog is to only post a picture taken that day.

When I say I had nowhere to go today that's not quite true, I have spent an enjoyable few hours with friends, drinking wine and mulling over the pros and cons of rural Norfolk life. I'm not the only city girl from the North West to end up in these parts and it can still be a culture shock at times.

As one of life's dreamers I still imagine I'll end up living in a city again so when I saw this quote today my imagination went into overdrive, all the way up to 11:

If you don't build your dream, someone will hire you to build theirs.

Oh so true and it's all within my grasp; the only thing missing is a little bit of planning and then a leap of faith as I step off the 10m board. Hopefully there's enough water there to break my fall and I'll swim gracefully to the surface but if I don't try I may as well accept that I'll be coaching someone else to do it. Anyone else lost in this metaphor?

Day 100. A day of reflection.

And I wore fuchsia socks.

Day 99. Part of this world, part of another.

The House of St Barnabas, a charity based in Soho, has announced a season of talks entitled ’37 things you need to know about Modern Britain’ kicking off on April 25th with ‘The Secret Meaning of Shoes’.

I’d pay good money to hear the possible meaning that lies behind these beauties worn by Robin Wight, President of Engine, who describes his role as being “to generally make a nuisance of myself, in order to help us achieve our dreams". I'm immediately reminded of a line from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory: “We are the music makers, we are the dreamers of dreams" and without doubt Gene Wilder, with his own eccentricities, would have rocked these shoes - although he would probably have requested a different colour.

The purple patent leather and sharp points alone must provide a host of insights before taking into account the eye-catching suit and fuchsia and vanilla socks (well I can hardly say pink and cream given the whole ensemble); that’s a lot of material to play with.

I could also add that rumour has it Robin used to wear a cape to work (please let this be true) but he’s since abandoned it in favour of a pink mac. This may be a more practical sartorial statement but it's not quite so useful for playing superheroes or exiting a room with the swirling sweep of a moustachioed villain.

It’s not unusual for me to feel provincially dressed when I’m in the Great Portland Street office, after all high heels and Norfolk farm tracks aren’t a winning combination, but when I feel this way standing next to a man I know it’s time to take action.

Tomorrow I shall be bold – perhaps I’ll wear fuschia socks…

Day 98. Bring your daughter to work.

Today was bring your daughter to work day at The Marketing Hive, otherwise known as week two of the Easter holidays. Bea sat at the desk opposite me working on a presentation that compared Honeybone family favourites – food, animals, films etc. – all displayed in colourful columns and with the relevant images alongside. The cat even had her own column but the fish were excluded - perhaps some sort of subconscious fishism or ichthyophobia at work there?

In all honesty I had thought it would be difficult to get everything done, fully expecting the day to spiral into a series of interruptions, but everything fell into place and we both ended the day happy with our achievements. We even managed to fit in a bike ride, artfully represented on Bea's mini whiteboard. Maybe she should come to work with me everyday? Splosh.

Day 97. Covered in bees.

There are many things my ageing brain struggles to remember, usually where I left my house or car keys, but I am blessed with a whole grey cell drawing room filled with Eddie Izzard quotes.

From "There must have been a death star canteen" and "Cat, are you drilling?" to "Das Orange and Pears can Fuck Off", if ever I need cheering up, a quick Eddie fix does the trick. And if you're one of the few people who's never seen the Lego version of the Death Star Canteen sketch watch it now, it's a work of genius.

Today, walking along the riverbank, it was with delight that a chance sighting of a fox and a scout around to see where it might have gone led us to discover this collection of hives.

For the past 2 years we've seen the owner head down the farm track without knowing where he kept them - he always has a couple of hives on the back of his truck, he doesn't drive around wearing a beekeeper uniform to identify himself. Next time he passes I'm going to try and find out where he sells the honey so we can buy some that is truly locally sourced, not just Norfolk honey, Roxham honey. Will suggested leaving a note on one of the hives. Given the number of bees we could see buzzing around today I think I'll pass on that approach and stick to waving down his truck like a mad woman.

I wonder if his father was a beekeeper and his father before him? Maybe he wants to walk in their footsteps "and their footsteps were like this - covered in bees!".  Like I said, a temporal cortex filled with quotes.

Day 96. On yer bike.

A little bit of sunshine and everyone seems happier. People smile as they pass each other, say hello, comment on the higher temperatures and nod in acknowledgement of this welcome change in the weather. It's probably only a matter of time before someone says "It's too hot" and we'll be forced to remind them that the North Koreans aren't the only ones with a reputation for having a short fuse. *Looks at Bea with a warning stare.*

Today we jumped on our bikes and cycled around Roxham and Ryston, stopping to see the neighbour's horse, admiring the daffodils and freewheeling down the slightest incline wind rushing through our hair and Bea shouting joyfully. The swans weren't on their nest near the riverbank so we headed back to sit in the garden, I KNOW, with a glass of something fizzy whilst watching Bea jump on the tramp. That's what she calls her trampoline; in no way do we encourage mistreatment of those without a fixed abode. Certainly no Iain Duncan Smith supporters here.

As the sun begins its descent, the washing continues to dry on the line and the fading light is streaming through the study window as I type this post, casting long shadows and warming the room without us having to switch on the heating. Glorious.

Day 95. Are you a scouser or not?

Someone once asked me this question. With aggression, anger even, mainly because I don't speak with a broad Liverpudlian accent, don't wear trackies and trainers and say 'Calm down, calm down' at the end of every sentence and apparently earn too much money.

It's been a common theme throughout my life. Outside of Liverpool there's clearly a view that if you're from our great city you're either a thieving scally or an over-tanned, roller wearing trolley dolly. Well just like all Geordies don't say 'Why aye man!' with every breath and most Londoners can hold a conversation without shouting 'You Slaggggg!' the people of Liverpool are a diverse and varied race. True some do fit the stereotype but with almost half a million people living there, what do you expect?

This week the BBC launched The Great British Class Calculator and to my amusement (Mum and Dad look away now) I ended up in the Elite class. Ha! Sound proof that it doesn't work. A thought reinforced by a friend who said I'd obviously lied about my hobbies, after all "Once a scouser..."

Then today a friend from Uni posted this on Facebook:

"I thought that Radio 4 office was posh, but I've just overheard the Radio 3 team discussing the merits of pickled quails eggs and walnuts."

An idle comment about Waitrose selling pickled quails eggs and me not being posh prompted another friend to refer to my current location - a sushi restaurant in Cambridge - and it's true, today has been a rather middle class day. We have indeed eaten sushi including soft shell crab, but I must point out it was Yo Sushi! not Teri-Aki, we've shopped in John Lewis where they kindly provided B with her own pillar, visited the Apple Store, spent far too long in Millers Music browsing sheet music and discussing the merits of a Baby Grand versus an upright, picked up a few bits for tea from M&S, then bought some artisan olive bread and an over-priced tub of olives from Cambridge Market.

Looking back, to some, the question headlining this post may seem fair.

However when we got in we let Bea prepare a cold supper for us all. She served gherkins in a glass, tomatoes and salad in individual jugs, yep jugs, olives in a honey pot and hacked the bread into 3 pieces. Some food was presented in the appropriate bowls but for the main part it looked like the Mad Hatter's Tea Party. We ate it in front of the TV, plates on laps and for that reason alone surely any hopes of joining Club Posh have disappeared through our single glazed windows and headed back to Ryston Hall where they belong. Not that I'm hopeful of being posh in any way. Elite. Posh. Not for me. Truthfully I'd move back to Liverpool tomorrow if I could sort out work. It's not out of the question.

Pickled quails egg anyone? Now where did I put my rollers?

Day 94. Dream, dream, dream.

Ever hopeful that I'll be wearing these soon, this yearning for warmth is not helped by friends and acquaintances posting photos from ever exotic places. I literally, not figuratively, cannot wait to put away big coats, boots and jumpers and unpack t-shirts, dresses and flip-flops.

There've been a few glimpses of sun this week and the promise of warmer days in the weeks to come. Let's hope the forecasters have got it right this time.

Day 93. Ooh I could crush a grape.

You have to be over a certain age to remember the catchphrase "Ooh I could crush a grape".

If you google Stu Francis his Wikipedia entry lists him as a comedian which seems a bit of a stretch but as a kid, watching him on Crackerjack, I would have agreed. Granted we had limited access to children's programming both in terms of channels and scheduling but Crackerjack was an end of the week treat. Where else could you see contestants struggling to hold onto all the prizes they'd won after correctly answering a question, along with a cabbage for a wrong answer? Three cabbages and you're out!

When Bea prepared her own dessert this week, pimped up natural yoghurt, for some reason she decided to crush the grapes before adding them to her bowl and then served the juice as a shot on the side.

The juice was lovely but I prefer my grape juice from a bottle with a bit more alcohol. I wonder what Stu Francis is doing now?

Day 92. Fly-tippers.

No this isn't our garden although the North-Easterlies have done a marvellous job of scattering our bonfire kindling, consisting mainly of cardboard and paper, all over the garden making us look decidedly Clampetty.

Fly-tipping around the Ryston Estate is becoming more noticeable and although its cleared away fairly quickly it's still frustrating to witness. We live a few miles away from a recycling centre and in Norfolk a few miles takes mere minutes in the car so there's really no excuse for this. In addition we have a large Sue Ryder charity shop with a sizeable car park and the staff are always grateful for any contributions.

This pile of plastic has already been removed; I wonder how long until the next one appears?

Day 91. Is the door locked?

I'm far from unique but if I could pick any holiday it would be trekking for tigers in India. I feel torn when I see them in this environment even when they have as much space as they do at Longleat but this gorgeous specimen toyed with us gawkers beautifully during our visit today.

He spent several minutes walking mere cms away from each car, when I say walking clearly I mean swaggering with that shoulder roll only big cats can pull off with style. And when I say big cats I mean tigers, lions and leopards not fat cats working in the city with plenty of money but no moving elegance.

Bea and I watched him work the line of cars we were in and then two cars ahead he cut across to the other side. As he appeared behind the car next to ours we were awe struck by his majestic beauty and then he turned and looked right at us before coming across to eyeball Bea. He spent a good 15 seconds or so sniffing and rubbing the corner of my car by which point I was beginning to think "Did I lock the doors?', all thoughts of photo taking disappearing as I prepared to edge the car forwards. And then he was gone back to the central mound where he lay down and resumed his watchful pose.

A fabulous day in Longleat listening to Steve Backshall talk about birds, snakes, sharks and reptiles, spotting Moshi Monsters on the Moshi egg hunt and completing the Deadly 60 mission through the safari park but now I feel it's time to plan a trip where we can see animals in their natural environment. Tigers may be unrealistic but we could start closer to home. Any ideas?