Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness
Welcome to September! Although it's actually far less autumnal than the preceeding months, best to welcome autumn with a smile rather than a frown, because it only gets worse from here on in, eh? It'll be dark mornings and evenings before you know it, bloggardes.
The past week has been a bit of an emotional flip, must be the months playing havoc with my hormones. Been very silly when I should be sensible, but we all do from time to time, methinks. Anyhoo, that's what I tend to blog about, so we'll move back to the biting observation, shall we?
Even though the weather is rather nice, we seem to be infested with slugs at the moment, so much so, that it has even made it into the national press. So I feel honour-bound to report my witnessing of the rather gruesome cannibal slugs, feasting on one of their number who had expired, exploded and leached slug-innards all over the road. Circle of life, people.
Does actually bring back vivid memories of my one-and-only gardening task throughout my teenage years. I'm sure it's because my mum was just as revolted by it as I came to be; emptying the garden beer-traps of dead slugs.
Now your average slug is somewhat of a pisshead. It's an old gardener's trick, you dig a little hole in the ground and place within the hole a small receptacle containing beer. For preference, the worst possible lager money can buy (that'll be Stella Artois, then). Slugs are then so befuddled in their frenzy to sate their alcoholics cravings, they crawl headlong into this pot of beer and drown in the contents, a sort of invertebrate pickling jar a la Nelson in his brandy.
I had the delightful task of emptying these every day, and considering the infestation out garden seemed to suffer under, every day there were at least ten slugs in each. In the interests of fertillisation, I was to bury these inebriated corpses into our ground, however after very little time it was an effort to find diggable spots that werent already full of dead slugs. Not very pleasant to turn up the earth with a little spoon and dig up nothing but rotting, beery slugs, but did this I did for week after week. Our garden, the mass-grave of slugs.
Enough of the memory-lane trip. Back to the present day! Rehearsals for play roll ever onwards and I have a few more pages of lines to learn and then I'm onto bookless. Should be alright, since I dont actually have all that much to say, but it is proving to be a pain in the arse, more so than usual. I guess I've been away from it for long enough, and the regular act of learning for exams, that I'm getting worse at it. Time for me to start learning pointless lists of things again, eh? Or the Shakespeare speeches, that was quite fun. Enough to occupy the mind a little.
Since I'm at work, I guess I'd better get back to it, eh? I'll perhaps tap out a bit more later, but we'll see, eh?
The past week has been a bit of an emotional flip, must be the months playing havoc with my hormones. Been very silly when I should be sensible, but we all do from time to time, methinks. Anyhoo, that's what I tend to blog about, so we'll move back to the biting observation, shall we?
Even though the weather is rather nice, we seem to be infested with slugs at the moment, so much so, that it has even made it into the national press. So I feel honour-bound to report my witnessing of the rather gruesome cannibal slugs, feasting on one of their number who had expired, exploded and leached slug-innards all over the road. Circle of life, people.
Does actually bring back vivid memories of my one-and-only gardening task throughout my teenage years. I'm sure it's because my mum was just as revolted by it as I came to be; emptying the garden beer-traps of dead slugs.
Now your average slug is somewhat of a pisshead. It's an old gardener's trick, you dig a little hole in the ground and place within the hole a small receptacle containing beer. For preference, the worst possible lager money can buy (that'll be Stella Artois, then). Slugs are then so befuddled in their frenzy to sate their alcoholics cravings, they crawl headlong into this pot of beer and drown in the contents, a sort of invertebrate pickling jar a la Nelson in his brandy.
I had the delightful task of emptying these every day, and considering the infestation out garden seemed to suffer under, every day there were at least ten slugs in each. In the interests of fertillisation, I was to bury these inebriated corpses into our ground, however after very little time it was an effort to find diggable spots that werent already full of dead slugs. Not very pleasant to turn up the earth with a little spoon and dig up nothing but rotting, beery slugs, but did this I did for week after week. Our garden, the mass-grave of slugs.
Enough of the memory-lane trip. Back to the present day! Rehearsals for play roll ever onwards and I have a few more pages of lines to learn and then I'm onto bookless. Should be alright, since I dont actually have all that much to say, but it is proving to be a pain in the arse, more so than usual. I guess I've been away from it for long enough, and the regular act of learning for exams, that I'm getting worse at it. Time for me to start learning pointless lists of things again, eh? Or the Shakespeare speeches, that was quite fun. Enough to occupy the mind a little.
Since I'm at work, I guess I'd better get back to it, eh? I'll perhaps tap out a bit more later, but we'll see, eh?
posted by J at 2:48 PM
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