A Hippo In Wales

Many readers of Going Gently may also follow the exploits of a certain death defying African entrepreneur who has recently suffered a hole in his thigh which is the size ( and smell ) of Rotherham.
HIPPO TOM, with all the pluck of Gladys Aylward, jumped on a plane and admitted himself to a London Hospital within hours ( and I am not kidding when I said hours) of very serious health problems.
Well today, as I was strimming the field borders, Tom gave me a surprise visit. A friend, who Tom is staying with before he flys home to Africa , had an appointment along the North Wales coast, and so Tom tagged along in order to buy me a non alcoholic pint in The Crown. A welcomed" thank you" for some on line advice giving.
Tom is one of those people who seems to have crammed half a dozen lives into just 50 years of his own. He is a talented storyteller and  raconteur, with a razor sharp wit , and after just the briefest time in his company , I felt rather staid and just a little" careful"
After all I doubt I would have had the chutzpah to perform minor surgery on myself after getting bitten by a puff adder in the garden!
So what did I do with the former bomb disposal man and Angolan troubleshooter?
I showed him the Ukrainian Village, Offered him a scotch egg ( which he enjoyed) and took him to meet Auntie Glad in her daytime pinny.

The Queen of Trelawnyd meets the king of the bush

Surreal or what?