There was once this guy, this hunter dude, who'd been like, you know, a complete hot shot guy back in the deserts of Northern Africa.
Or wherever it is that lions roam around in Africa, because what our man did was, he hunted lions.
Well anyways, so he'd finished his hunting career and all, hung up his boots (or whatever it is that hunters hang up, I wouldn't really know... trapping mosquitoes is a big deal where I'm concerned), and gotten around to living the good life, back home in England.
He'd gotten himself this large estate, where he'd entertain guests every now and then.
And it was at such a time (when he was regaling one and all with his stories) that somebody asked him if he'd thought that it was all over at any point back then. You know, whether he'd been caught up in a situation from which there was no way out. Move and your dead. Stay still and you're going to die anyways.
Our protaganist smiled.
"Yes", he said, with that far-away look in his eyes, you know, as if he was reliving that moment. "Yes, there was this one time when I had nothing with me, no gun, no rifle, no hunting knife, not even a toothpick. And I was in the middle of nowhere. There was desert all around me. Not a tree, not a shrub, not even a blade of grass. No rocks to hide behind, no stones to throw, no crevices to jump into. And then I saw this lion charging towards me, coming on to me with a speed that spelt sure death."
A collective gasp went up around the guests, you know, as they imagined the sheer helplessness of the situation.
"So what did you do?" asked one of the ladies present, a little breathlessly, as is their wont.
"Me? Well, there was nothing I could do. There is no way I could have escaped death. Rationally speaking, I shouldn't be here right now," said the hunter, a mischievous glint in his eye.
"Well then?", said the lady, looking at our man with big blue eyes.
"I climbed the tree," said the hunter.
"What tree?" said a young upstart, looking in some bemusement at the raconteur of the tale. " You just said there was no tree!"
" You don't understand," said the wise old hunter, walking away.
"There is always a tree."
This story can't be apocryphal, you see.
There is always a tree.