It’s 11pm, I’m sitting at the computer in front of a blank screen, watching YouTube videos as a way of procrastinating. The kitchen window is open and I’m listening to the rain and thinking that you wouldn’t believe that last week there was sweat everywhere.
Then, out of nowhere, an enormous moth dive bombs the lamp. Not quite Mothra sized, but pretty bloody big. The lamp is an uplighter style thing, so it’s spinning round the inside of it like a motorcyclist on a wall of death.
This prompts me, with sadness as I was enjoying the rain, to close the kitchen window because otherwise the whole house will be filled with moths and we’ll come downstairs tomorrow morning to a front room filled with chewed carcasses as Peppa has what can best be described as her most fun night ever.
Either that, or I’d have to open the back door and hope that one of the bats notices the abundance of wildlife in here and comes in for a night of fine dining.
Either way, the window needs closing.
It won’t close.
There is a scout party of snails making an entrance, using their shells to block the window.
This is something I learn after the fact.
Because when you’re presented with something that you know should close, but it won’t, you generally try again with a bit more welly. Which is what I did. Which is why closing the kitchen window sounded like someone walking through a bag of crisps.
When I was younger, I don’t think I ever saw a snail. They were the stuff of legend. Slugs, yes – I had some in an old fish tank for a while. But snails, never.
And yet now, they are fricking everywhere. Even in my parents garden – the same garden I grew up in (well, I didn’t grow up in the garden but you know what I mean) there are snails. That tree I cut down the other week was a lot heavier than it should have been because there were a lot of snails in it. But they weren’t there in the 80s.
I can’t even pretend to understand it.
But they already have their homes on their backs. They don’t need to try and slide their way into someone else’s.
Although, much like putting the heads of traitors onto spikes on a town wall, I imagine an entire window edged with the crushed and mangled bodies of earlier snails might be off-putting to any interlopers…