Snail rescue – the sequel (and who says sequels aren’t good?)
Sorry, sorry, sorry!. This is my last snail-rescue post I promise.I am moving onto bigger things very soon….
But the other day Ann said something to me that I couldn’t let pass:
‘I can hear snails at night’ she said.
‘What! In our bedroom?
‘In our garden’
‘How? What do they sound like?’ I asked in astonishment
I had just cleared the garden of 150 snails and gave them a new home. They can’t have found their way back from Hackney Marshes already. ‘What did they do, take the bus?’
Concerned that Ann was either going mad or has a new superhuman hearing power I took her out to the garden after a burst of rain to see for myself.
‘Look’ she said
And there they were. Tens and tens of the buggers crawling over the slippery leaves. I place my ear near to the floor and wait. And then… I hear the leaves rustling. I look up at Ann with awe.
‘They rustle!’ I say.
‘That’s what I said.’
‘But how did they get here? ‘Are they a new generation spawned in panic when the last lot were taken off? (is that what snails do, they give birth in panic?) Or is this a snail rescue party trying to find the previous inhabitants? Or did they parachute down with the queen during the opening of the Olympics?
Ann and I go through the usual discussion about how I think we should leave them here and she says she can’t have them and I say I’m writing this blog etc etc so I start picking them up – with ann’s help I should add – and put them in a small salad tupperware box
Ann says she’ll never eat out of it again.
Ten minutes later we collect around a hundred snails. Despite the build-up of slime on my hands I’m enjoying this because in my weird measuring scale of compassion (on the RHS) a snail counts as one life just as an elephant counts as one life. And I’d be hard-pressed to save a hundred elephants in my garden so this is good going.
I make a video of myself taking the snails to the park. It’s a bit weird but I know you want to see it. Even though all the people that saw me walking past didn’t.
On the way back, feeling now empowered, I see four massive slugs on the road, about to be stepped on.
Thank God I am now in touch with Nature, I think to myself, as I bend down and take my camera out to capture their distress.
Imagine my horror when I realise they are not slugs but four dog turds that, frankly, are doing just fine on their own.
As I look up in embarassment a hipster girl walks past and sees me examining the poo and looks at me as if to say ‘are you the guy that was walking the snails down Broadway Market in a box? I thought so..’
You can get away with a lot in East London, but not too much.