Emma Cowing: If pasties be pandas’ food of love, play on

On examination, they were found to be extracts from female panda Tian Tian’s secret diary. This is what they said.

3 April, 2012

Dear Diary,

I HAVE suffered some indignities in my time, like flying coach class from China and having my weight published in the national press, but this latest outrage really has taken the bamboo biscuit. Every morning for the past fortnight, one of the keepers has insisted on following me to the bathroom.

I’ve tried to explain that I need my privacy – God knows, I don’t get enough of it with half the population of Edinburgh tramping past my boudoir every day – but she won’t listen, just mutters something about hormones before sneaking away with what she suspiciously describes as “a sample”.

Well, I ask you, is it any wonder my hormones are all over the place?

That great lug Yang Guang has been making a right show of himself lately, lounging in his pool and peeking over his shoulder at me, eyelids aflutter with all the allure of a scantily clad Michael Winner at bathtime. Doesn’t he understand that a girl like me needs to be wined and dined? I mean, he’s not the worst-looking panda I’ve seen but he really does lack some finesse when it comes to dating skills.

All I ask for is a man who’ll buy me the odd bunch of Chinese moonflowers, whisper a few sweet nothings in my ear and nip out to Harvey Nicks on occasion to get me some Yves-Saint Laurent touche eclat for my dark circles. Instead, all I get is a bloke who thinks it’s appealing to sit with his legs askance, gnawing on a bit of bamboo and occasionally shouting “Alright, darling?” over the fence that divides our enclosures.

Honestly, I’ve seen rhesus monkeys with more romantic moves.

Still, a date is a date. I’ve had boyfriends before, but nothing that’s lasted for more than five minutes. Given that Yang Guang and I are stuck in this strange country together for a decade, I suppose we might as well give it a go. Not that I think the Scots are up to much when it comes to romance. A hot date round here seems to consist of a trip to the pub and something called a “pasty”. I’m not sure what that is but apparently it’s so expensive that it’s seen as a true token of love.

I’d settle for an outing to the penguin parade and a slice of panda cake to be perfectly honest with you, but I’m not telling Yang Guang that.

Still, when I got up this morning, I did make a bit of a special effort with my toilette, just in case, fluffing up my ears and making my eyes look as big and black as possible (Max Factor 2000 Calorie mascara works wonders, darling). Call it panda instinct but I just had a feeling something might be happening. Maybe it was the big sign on the front of the enclosure that said “PANDAS MATING TODAY”. Really. I think these keepers think I’m stupid.

Anyway, when the keeper said I was to have “a very special visitor” I feigned surprise, just to keep her happy. You’d think she was a mother of the bride getting ready to walk me down the aisle.

Still, I insisted on the panda cam being shut off for the day. I’m no Paris Hilton, thank you very much. I know how these things work. What’s meant to be an intimate moment between a loving couple ends up being dubbed into German and broadcast on a late-night cable television channel. And I wouldn’t even get a cut of the proceeds.

Anyway, finally the gate to the love tunnel opened, and Yang Guang sauntered into the room. He’d barely got his rump through the door before he was winking at me. I think he thinks he’s Simon Cowell. He’s certainly got a thick enough waist. It’s the first time I’ve seen him up close and I can’t say I was overly impressed. He looks nothing like the profile pictures I’ve seen. He had nice eyes though, I’ll give him that. I wonder if he’s been pinching my mascara.

Anyway, he came over to me, put a paw on my shoulder, and told me I looked beautiful. And at that point … well, a lady never tells.

Anybody got a pasty?