When I saw the queue to board the Victoria Peak tram at 10:30 this morning, I ducked and rolled for my life and got the hell out of there. Not because I don’t love waiting in the scorching heat to board an un-air-conditioned, clunky heap of metal, it’s just that I didn’t have a hat or very much sunscreen on and I’d seen a sign for the botanical gardens just minutes beforehand. It would be rude to NOT see which types of plants and birds they had. (Truth be told, I’m a huge fan of zoos and I can’t turn down a free inner city zoological experience). I quickly realised that my pale Irish skin and my weak little chicken knees were not so keen on zoological and botanical gardens, but I pushed on and found some red bin chickens and a beautifully mouldy stairwell. There were also a few instances where I wasn’t sure if I was sweating profusely or just crying a little bit (probably a cocktail of both).