If the camels have the hump, it’s a bad sign

Katie Parry,

For the mysteries of married life are revealed on a walk past London Zoo

The best part of my morning commute is the camels. My walk starts conventionally, with a wander down Primrose Hill. On these cold mornings it is slippery, and I hardly notice the surrounding city. At times, though, my eye is caught by the rising sun glinting off the Shard. Or the jaunty “Good Morning” beamed across London from the electric totem pole of the BT Tower. On those days, I marvel at the sheer scale of the deceptively ordered urbanity laid out before me.

I cross the road, dodging cyclists with a bad case of tunnel vision, and enter a land inhabited by exotic beasts. Or, as some prefer to call it, Regent’s Park.

Avoiding the road, I dive left, off piste, to skim the perimeter of London Zoo.

My first encounter is with the warthog. His eyes are small and red-rimmed and his rough hair stands almost vertical, making me wonder if some ancestor might have indulged in a (presumably rather painful) dalliance with a porcupine.

I am on friendlier terms with the gibbons, who take time out from their busy grooming schedules to chatter at me as I pass. I don’t linger; their melancholic expression reminds me of those people at parties

whose sole aim is to corral the unsuspecting into interminable conversations about their mental state.

Though I suppose I, too, might be anxious if my neighbour were a Sumatran tiger – even if she is something of a recluse. Nor is her company, when she deigns to offer it, particularly illuminating. I only ever see her reclining sleepily on a raised tree trunk; she seems to have the belief, regrettably common among the beautiful, that her presence alone should suffice.

I am not offended. My heart lies next door, with the

I, too, might be anxious if my neighbour were a Sumatran tiger

camels. These two awkward, haughty creatures have the unmistakable air of a long-married couple. Sometimes they huddle confidingly. Sometimes they share a meal. More often, of late, they stand as far apart as possible. This last makes me extremely nervous. I have come to see my daily snapshot of camel matrimonial felicity as a bellwether for my own relationship. If they seem well-disposed towards each other I breathe a sigh of relief. On bad-camel days, however, I worry ceaselessly about what form the inevitable disagreement with my beloved will take.

Bitter experience has taught me not to hang around in the hope of witnessing a reconciliation. Camel estrangements tend to be of considerable duration. I tear myself away from my humped fortune tellers to have a brief exchange with a bearded pig.

And then I am surrounded by the symmetry of the park’s Avenue Gardens. My feet have remembered what my head had forgotten: the office is calling, and I am, as usual, running late.