Inside the room was a real elephant .  And the room was small…  I mean small. Like the rooms in “Being John Malkevitch”.  And the elephant was a fully grown male rogue on a rampage!

But that was only yesterday. My story really starts twenty five years ago,  July 3 on a warm,  wet Spring morning,  the rain evaporating  in a gentle mist as soon as it hit the tarmac.

A bird landed on my shoulder,  an event surprising in its itself,  a ridiculously multicoloured songbird, but when it began to speak in English to me,  well…  I knew I was dreaming.  Except l wasn’t.