October 7th 2019

Its been a long time, since we last spoke of Woodland matters, the dampness of Autumn coupled with the sliminess and smell of death and decay is bringing the Fungi and the Gastropod Molluscs out. Those slimy bastards who eat everything in their path, are so awful to look at christ knows I don’t want to touch one. Ever again.

When I was a young lad, who visited my folks house in the school holidays and university breaks, I would often see if I could find any pound coins lose in my Dad’s spare room and go upto the pub in the village for a night out, Banks’ Bitter was about £1.20 a pint and so £7 0r £8 was enough to get leathered with, fags were cheap too as we could steal them from behind the counter when the landlord went to change the barrel, he didn’t use a cigarette machine and was a notorious drinker, so much so that when invariably we ran out of money, the slate was used and names and pints chalked up, and after when his back was turned names and pints were rubbed off. I was young, skint and not the only one, we were all young and skint and loving the life of a cheap n’er do well.

Anyway one night as I staggered home around 3am after a particularly ferocious lock in, I rattled my key in the lock forced my way in and kicked off my shoes and socks into a heap in the hallway. I then walked into the kitchen in the dark, the floor cold on my feet then suddenly the tiles were cold and slimy, slippy and lumpy, as I struggled and stumbled to the opposite side of the kitchen to locate the light switch, the floor seemed to be covered in goo. I blinked and tried to focus in my booze enhanced stupor and choked as I saw in front of me, a spread of slugs, trampled on and ripped apart by my bare feet, made a million times worse as my Dad, ever the lover of animals, had poured salt on all the black slime tubes, and as a result, the technicolour of the insides and the viscous remnants of what must have been an ill advised raiding party was laid to dissolve on the rather one sided field of battle. IT was nothing short of a massacre and I had stumbled all over it and all through it, creating a unspeakable melting pot of melted slugs. My face is screwed up and I remember this, the slug stuff in between my toes and God; the horror, the horror.

Thank god I was really pissed as I’m sure it was worse than I can remember, but remember I do, and I will never forget. The next time I trod on a slug was a double whammy, both feet. I was watching The Tommy Knockers with friends in Salford when I lived there. Went outside for a cigarette on a warm autumnal evening and trod on a bunch of slugs with both feet as soon as I went out side. I shouted in disgust, kicked my feet in the air and ran back inside wiping my feet on the door mat, possibly shredding a slug or two in the coarse brush like material of the mat.

Thats the slug chat over with, thank God. When life is really bad, I just think to my self, at least I haven’t trodden on a slug or even worse, at least I am not a slug and have some one step on me.


Its my Birthday in a little over a month and once again my folks ask me the age old question, the really tricky question as to what I would like for my birthday. I never really have any need for anything at around this time of the year, which has led to some fairly random presents, such as a telescope, which I mentioned months before, in passing, that it may be quite nice to look at the moon once in a while. This year however is an exception. My wellington boots are fucked. The inside Neoprine lining has ripped on both heels rendering the boots useless as I can’t wear them without getting severe blisters. This has been about the third pair of wellies in as many years I have ruined because of shoddy neoprene, and I’m not going to stand for this any more, these last pair have lasted less than a year for fucks sake. Which is not on, and it was Ray Mears who hotly tipped this French Company; Pecheur.com. Ive written to them complaining nd they’ve written back to me asking for further information. So I may not have a need for some new birthday wellies, in which case i’m back to where I started and will, likely not have a clue of what to say when the question comes. Bless my folks, they won’t take no for an answer, maybe I’ll buy a record or two.


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