Slither Night

This is what I have become...

Sometime between ten and eleven o'clock at night I'll be out with the dogs and the big torch, ostensibly to keep an eye on Cleo, to make sure she actually pees instead of crashing through the back door in search of a high-value treat. She hasn't that many accomplishments but being able to open every bloody door in the house is one of them.

But what I am actually keenest on doing is counting and observing garden snails. They are such fascinating creatures. The snails range in size from tiny translucent babies whose delicate shells might be broken by a breath to the big lads with shells as large as walnuts. I say lads, but snails are hermaphroditic. A couple of times I have spotted a pair of them closely entwined and suppose that they are having snail sex although I'm not sure how they do it. Philip Watson explained it all to me about thirty years ago but I was phobic about slugs and snails then and couldn't bear to listen to him. There was something about knives maybe? 

My slugs and snails phobia originated in that ghastly nursery rhyme, which I took literally. It was horrible thinking of dismembered puppy tails mixed up with slugs. My fear and dislike of slimy things was not helped by having Cousin Patrick pelt me with those huge black slugs found on the shores of Lough Neagh some sixty years ago.

Soft rainy nights are best for snail-watching and I know all their favourite spots. Near stone walls, tiled paths, Bert's hostas, the sunflowers, around the windows. I have to be very careful where I walk. I try not to tread on them. Most nights I count around eighty.  Tonight it was 14 slugs, 84 snails and two accidentally crunched.

This is what I have become. 

Vine Weevil Blues

You may speak of snails and slugs

And other filthy bugs

But no pest is quite so evil

As the ugly, vile vine weevil

The tenth visitor of the day

I like to pretend that I am a kind, considerate person but the truth is I am not! The truth is that I am hateful and harbour murderous thoughts. In fact, I sometimes carry out murderous deeds and not always in my imagination.

This is my Kill List.

In alphabetical order:

Aphids - I set ladybirds on them. If there are no ladybirds available I squirt them with soapy water.

Bores - cannot stand them and, believe it or not, I am not easily bored. 

Carrot Flies - I hate them so much I buy all my carrots in Lidls. Let someone else worry.

Cold Callers - I have no tolerance for these people at all. I have been known to be rude. Or I tell lies. "I'm sorry this is not a good time. There has been a death in the family." And they hang up on me. How rude!

Cruel People - I don't believe in an eye for an eye but often cruelty, especially cruelty to animals, is not properly punished. More jail time needed. And not comfy jail either. Something like the sort of dungeons they have in Game of Thrones. Chained up, bread and water, gruel. That sort of thing.

Other Drivers - shouldn't be allowed. The roads should just be for me and my special friends.

People Who Call To The House Just As We Are Sitting Down To Eat And Comment, “Youse Are Always Eating.” - just fuck off back to your own house then.

People Who Park In My Spot - bloody cheek!

People Who Pee On The Toilet Seat - mainly Bert but he has other good qualities that compensate for an occasional fail in this department.

Preachers - I'm fairly tolerant of religious people and try to be respectful of other people's views but sometimes they are not respectful of mine. My tolerance does not stretch to include the exuberance of those belonging to our local cult. No! I do not want a free hug! I may hit you if you try it.

Slugs - I take great pleasure in feeding them to the chickens and hardly feel guilty at all.

The Tenth Visitor Of The Day - sometimes we get a lot of visitors. It is because we are both at home and because we are both so lovely and hospitable and nice. But when it's been a very busy day I do sometimes fantasise about moats and drawbridges and a hired sniper in the tree house.

Vine Weevils - hateful, hateful critters. I can never find the adults but I do take a delicious pleasure in squishing the life out of the larvae.

I'm Worried About Bert

He's changing. He's not as ruggedly masculine as he used to be. I hope it's not an ageing thing for he's not even 50 yet!

First there was the slug in his cabbage. I remember a time when that wouldn't have fazed him one bit. Slug on your greens! He'd have laughed at me or the girls for making a fuss about a little thing like that.

Then today he was giving off about me running the hot water away. Isn't it a woman's thing to be moaning at men for wasting the good hot water?

But worst of all - I came into the den last night and Friends was on. 'You're not watching that are you?' I remarked as I grabbed the remote control and switched to Top Gear. He was a bit miffed. 'Well it's better than that oul crap,' says he indicating Clarkson and Denise van Outen. We had to go back to Friends. Turns out it's his current favourite programme and Joey and Phoebe are his favourite characters. Dear God! It's only a matter of time before he's out at Daniel O'Donnell concerts.

But one thing gives me hope. He's still pissing on the toilet seat.