I ain't got no cabbages no more
Because of this fellow:
photographs give you no scale, but this fellow was six inches long
This morning dawned warm, but wet, and I was awoken at the ungodly hour of half past five by a serenading Jack Russell Terrier. Senility is a terrible thing, and the urge to sing with the first birds is surely a sign that you're progressing up the grim reaper's list (he's checking it once, he's checking it twice...) I threw Chiswick out the dog-flap and crawled back into bed, but the damage had been done.
Wandering out into the misty wetness a couple of hours later, I was confronted by not one, not two, not even one hundred or two hundred, but legion upon legion of slugs. Our lawn was no longer green with a hint of dachshund vomit (an unfortunate reaction to a meaty-treat filled bone), but contrasting shades of shiny black and shiny brown.
I thought I had grown accustomed to Arion Distinctus* and his nefarious cabbage-eating ways. I thought that the night-time torch and sharp knife had seen him off. I truly believed that the rain-proof ferric phosphate pellets were the answer. But it seems I was deluding myself. A bit of rain, a warm night and the little (and not so little) buggers were at it like the high days of Sodom and Gomorrah. A love-in, it was. Slimy bodies entwined in sluggy ecstasy as they consummated their vegetable-devouring love.
Still, I understand salt is a good way to kill them. Maybe Lot's wife would oblige.
* strangely enough, I remember Arion as the Lord of Atlantis, a rather tortured hero of an 80's DC comic book. I never realised that he was actually a slug. It explains a lot, though.
photographs give you no scale, but this fellow was six inches longThis morning dawned warm, but wet, and I was awoken at the ungodly hour of half past five by a serenading Jack Russell Terrier. Senility is a terrible thing, and the urge to sing with the first birds is surely a sign that you're progressing up the grim reaper's list (he's checking it once, he's checking it twice...) I threw Chiswick out the dog-flap and crawled back into bed, but the damage had been done.
Wandering out into the misty wetness a couple of hours later, I was confronted by not one, not two, not even one hundred or two hundred, but legion upon legion of slugs. Our lawn was no longer green with a hint of dachshund vomit (an unfortunate reaction to a meaty-treat filled bone), but contrasting shades of shiny black and shiny brown.
I thought I had grown accustomed to Arion Distinctus* and his nefarious cabbage-eating ways. I thought that the night-time torch and sharp knife had seen him off. I truly believed that the rain-proof ferric phosphate pellets were the answer. But it seems I was deluding myself. A bit of rain, a warm night and the little (and not so little) buggers were at it like the high days of Sodom and Gomorrah. A love-in, it was. Slimy bodies entwined in sluggy ecstasy as they consummated their vegetable-devouring love.
Still, I understand salt is a good way to kill them. Maybe Lot's wife would oblige.
* strangely enough, I remember Arion as the Lord of Atlantis, a rather tortured hero of an 80's DC comic book. I never realised that he was actually a slug. It explains a lot, though.
Comments
Can't wait to hear it in person.
Too bad it isn't the sort you can fry in garlic oil.