London Zoo is amazing. I want to take my child there so that she

Host: The fog hung low over Regent’s Park, soft and pale, like the breath of an early dream that hadn’t quite decided whether to stay or fade. The faint cries of peacocks, the rustle of leaves, and the distant rumble of a city waking gave the morning a kind of sacred hush. It was the hour before noise — when even London seemed to pause for reverence.

Host: Jack and Jeeny walked slowly along the winding path that led toward the zoo gates, their breath visible in the cold. They weren’t here for spectacle or distraction — not really. They were here because nostalgia had called, because the world outside had become too fast and too digital, and they wanted to remember what it felt like to wonder.

Host: On a sign by the entrance, the words from a recent interview were printed beneath a photograph of the author smiling beside a giraffe:

“London Zoo is amazing. I want to take my child there so that she can feel the awe and wonder I felt (and feel) myself.” — Victoria Coren Mitchell

Host: The quote glowed faintly under the misty light — a manifesto for memory, for innocence rediscovered.

Jeeny: smiling softly “You ever realize how certain places hold your childhood like a time capsule?”

Jack: hands deep in his coat pockets “Yeah. Usually they’re smaller when you go back. Like they shrank when you grew up.”

Jeeny: laughing quietly “That’s because we stopped looking up.”

Jack: glancing at her “You say that like it’s poetry.”

Jeeny: grinning “It is. Every child looks at life like a cathedral — every animal, every sound, every smell is a miracle. Adults… we just call it data.”

Host: A small child’s laughter carried through the air, somewhere near the penguin pool. Jeeny smiled toward the sound. Jack’s expression softened, the kind of softness that doesn’t erase skepticism, but sits quietly beside it.

Jack: “You ever come here as a kid?”

Jeeny: nodding “My dad brought me every summer. He used to say, ‘If you can look at a tiger and still think humans are the top of creation, you’re not paying attention.’”

Jack: smirking “Wise man. And a little terrifying.”

Jeeny: laughing “Completely. But he was right. I remember standing by the lion enclosure — the sound of it breathing. That slow, heavy breath. I felt small, but not insignificant. Just… part of something bigger.”

Jack: quietly “You felt awe.”

Jeeny: nods “Yeah. The real kind. The kind that humbles you and lifts you at the same time.”

Host: The mist curled around the iron railings as they passed the aviary. Birdsong drifted down like notes from another world — bright, disorganized, and alive.

Jack: “You think kids today still feel that? Awe?”

Jeeny: “If we let them. But we’ve filled their eyes with screens before they ever got to see the sky properly.”

Jack: sighs “It’s not just kids. I can’t remember the last time I looked at something without taking a picture of it first.”

Jeeny: “That’s because we forgot how to just see.”

Jack: “You sound like my grandmother.”

Jeeny: smiling “Maybe she was right.”

Jack: “She also thought Wi-Fi was witchcraft.”

Jeeny: laughing softly “Maybe she was right about that too.”

Host: They stopped by the giraffe enclosure. The animals moved slowly, gracefully, their long necks stretching toward a pale sun. Jeeny tilted her head up, almost in sync with them.

Jeeny: “Look at them. They’re absurd and perfect at the same time. Like someone drew them with a sense of humor and forgot to erase the beauty.”

Jack: watching her instead of the giraffes “You still get that look.”

Jeeny: glancing at him “What look?”

Jack: “The one people get when they forget the world owes them something.”

Jeeny: quietly “That’s what wonder is, Jack. It’s the opposite of entitlement.”

Host: A pause — not awkward, but still. A pause of realization. The kind that hums softly beneath the surface when a truth has been spoken out loud.

Jack: “You think that’s why Victoria Coren said she wanted her child to feel it? That kind of awe?”

Jeeny: “Of course. Because awe is the first language we ever speak — before we learn to name things, before we learn to own them.”

Jack: thoughtfully “So it’s not just nostalgia. It’s a way of keeping the soul awake.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. When you show a child a zebra or an elephant, you’re not teaching biology — you’re teaching reverence.”

Jack: smiling faintly “And here I thought reverence was for church.”

Jeeny: “Maybe this is a church. The earth built it first.”

Host: A faint roar echoed from somewhere deep within the zoo, low and majestic, followed by a ripple of gasps and laughter from nearby visitors.

Jeeny: eyes lighting up “That sound — it never stops thrilling me.”

Jack: “It sounds ancient. Like the planet remembering itself.”

Jeeny: “Yes.” pauses “It’s proof we share something primal. For a second, you realize we’re not above nature, we’re just… lucky to be part of it.”

Jack: smiling faintly “You’re preaching again.”

Jeeny: softly “No. I’m just remembering.”

Host: The fog began to lift, revealing the zoo’s pathways glistening with dew. The world looked freshly washed, every leaf shimmering in the newborn light.

Jack: after a long silence “You know, when I was a kid, I wanted to be a zookeeper. Thought it’d be the best job in the world.”

Jeeny: smiling warmly “What happened?”

Jack: “I grew up. I realized the animals weren’t free.”

Jeeny: gently “Neither are we, Jack. But maybe awe is the closest thing to freedom we ever get.”

Jack: staring at her, quietly stunned “You really believe that?”

Jeeny: “I do. Because awe stops time. It silences the noise. It makes us remember we’re alive.”

Jack: nodding slowly “Maybe that’s why she said she still feels it — even now. Maybe the trick isn’t keeping the child alive. Maybe it’s learning how to see through her eyes again.”

Jeeny: softly “Exactly.”

Host: The sun broke through the fog then, casting a golden warmth over the enclosures. For a brief, perfect moment, the animals seemed to glow — their breath visible, their movements slow and graceful, like they were performing for no one and everyone at once.

Jeeny: quietly “You see that?”

Jack: nods “Yeah.”

Jeeny: “That’s what she meant. The awe. The wonder. It’s right there — waiting for us to look up.”

Host: They stood together, wordless, the city beyond the zoo still roaring on — traffic, ambition, noise. But here, for now, there was only life.

Host: As they walked toward the exit, children’s voices rose behind them — laughter, surprise, the tiny exclamations of discovery. Jeeny turned back for one last glance at the gates.

Jeeny: softly “You know, I think when we lose that awe, that’s when we start breaking the world — because we stop loving it.”

Jack: quietly “Then maybe we should all come back here once in a while.”

Jeeny: smiling “Not to escape life. To remember it.”

Host: The camera panned wide, rising above the zoo — the lions, the birds, the people moving through sunlight and shadow — all small, all part of something infinitely greater.

Host: And as the city shimmered awake, Victoria Coren Mitchell’s words seemed to echo across the morning like a benediction:

that awe is not a luxury,
but a birthright.

that the world is still amazing,
if only we remember
to look up.