A word with Mr Mucus...

Mr Mucus and his mates have been all over the Hildares tomato seedlings.

And over my third batch of runner beans. They've been vandalising what's currently sheltering in our two greenhouses and have been chewing through my precious zinnia and phlox seedlings.














I've now caught him in flagrante.

And we had a little conversation.












He didn't say much in his defence and instead tried to ooze down my thumb in a pathetic attempt at deflecting my ire. "Feel my luuuurve..." I think I heard him say in his best Isaac Hayes voice. But that doesn't work on me, mate. I want an explanation. When he tried to test my thumb for edibility, I had enough and took him down the garden to the compost dalek. I deposited him, gently, for I'm not that monstrous, on the dalek's lid and told him to get to work on what's underneath. He threw me a last loved-up glance through his swivelling bedroom eyes -- "You don't know what you're missing, baby", he said, gloopily -- and poured himself down the side of the composter in search for a more suitable mate. I didn't care. The only greenery that's edible round there from a snail's point of view is nettle. He can have that.