Newcastle poet Terry Horn 35, had to be rescued from the inside of a rhinoceros this week at The Raven Hotel in Dublin.
Mr. Horn told the Druids Loom – “I was booked to do a poetry reading at the Dublin Poetry Festival so I stayed overnight at The Raven as I knew some of the world’s most revered poets would be there too. The prospect of rubbing shoulders with authors of the highest calibre exited me immensely.”
“I arrived at the hotel reception and there was a huge dead rhinoceros lying in front of the reception desk. This was puzzling to me – why was it there? Surely the beast hadn’t intended to book a room for the night – collapsing in the reception area before the booking arrangement had been completed. I just couldn’t imagine a rhinoceros sleeping on a hotel bed – breaking all the mattress springs, running laps around the hotel room, butting the wall with its horn, eating the curtains, calling room service -“
‘hello room service’ (room service)
‘can you repeat that sir?’ (room service)
‘sorry sir I didn’t understand all of that –
if you require an eight o’clock call go –
‘gggrrroolaeeemmm’ (room service)
‘oh half of that noise? oh I see – half past eight?’ (room service)
‘oh sorry – you have a stutter’ (room service).
“The rhinoceros was so big the only way I could get my room key from the receptionist was by climbing through the middle of the animal. My agenda that evening was to mingle in the hotel bar with some of the world’s finest poets – exchanging ideas, discussing our mutual passion for literature over a cocktail or two into the early hours. Instead the Dublin Fire Brigade had to pull me through the rhino’s asshole with a rope. The commotion attracted every poet in the hotel. They guffawed and mocked my excruciating ordeal as I tried to retain some dignity by making an announcement combined with an impromptu poem.”
Ode to a Rhino Rescue
‘Ladies and gentleman, unfortunately I have lost a shoe
in the emergency rescue, but it is so lovely to meet you.
I’ve got myself into a mess – and as I stand here in a state
of undress, I hope you’ll understand that I had planned
on reciting some poetry this evening, but as you can clearly
see I am now underwear free – they vanished like my dreams –
so you know what that means. My writing career has finally
trickled away like water under a bridge, especially as there is
Amid strikes from the Junior Doctor, an over stretched NHS and complications with the NHS 111 helpline non-medically trained Health Secretary, Jeremy Hunt, offers his hints, and tips of how to deal with medical emergencies and procedures.