My life as a tree kangaroo

Went out on the town last night. Took something to read. I am so out of practice I felt quite wazzed after two beers, not in a stumbly way but I began to feel incredibly sentimental towards everything the strangers dotted around me ... the pub was quiet, I didn't even mind the bland Celtic mumblings piped all round.

It didn't wear off quickly either. I ended up watching the telly's endless and banal documentaries, and felt quite sentimental towards the tree kangaroo of Papua New Guinea, who it appears has only just started adapting to their new arboreal home. Believe me it look like they moved in to the trees say about two weeks ago. Very wobbly, some would say rickety on the branches. Apparently the baby tree kangaroos, the joeys have to hang with Mum for 2 years to get the hang of treelife.

This may explain the feelings of unease I have in the company of strangers. Perhaps my particular forebears only came down from the trees as long ago as the kangaroos went up'em. Perhaps they traded places. I would like to think that my rickety social skills are merely a throwback, a nod to my desire to hang in the trees, though not particularly with Mum.