Here We Are!

Glo, Roy and the Snail of Pleasure

Isn't Roy a love?
Behind those bad ass glasses are the eyes of a lurve machine. It's funny you know how, even when afflicted by eyes that don't work, a man, be he black or white, dying or youth, can still kill with a wink.
And when ladies reach their 'lined' time, their final time, there's nothing more cheering or rousing than a bloke, be he upright or not, offering a gal a rheumy wink at the right time, John;)

I said yesterday that the ring had a helmet feel about it, on closer study though I think it is more snailish! And so enamoured was I with it yesterday that I fell asleep in the bed of marriage with it firmly fit upon my finger. On waking very early this morn I was startled by something smooth, and, in the half light of 5 a.m. was invigorated, nay vitalized, by the throbbing tightness of the shiny trinket. And because of it's glorious shine and saintly simplicity I won't get this sweet shell wet.

Today is not just about black men and rubber gloves it's about Ghana and Uruguay. So after flying around the bungalow wearing a pinny I'll grill a fish finger and get settled.

Ta Ta!

Little Things That Go Crunch!

After re-filling the bird feeders I turned around and saw three giant snails munching from a small plate I'd super glued to the windowsill. (I like to think they were a family out on a picnic.)

Being a softie with an inquisitive mind I squelched over my muddy patch to watch them.

One of the snails was sticking his head and neck out (do snails have necks?) anyway he was elongated. Being fascinated I took a closer look...His sticky type body having slithered over the small plate had accrued tiny seeds and flakes of corn, I immediately wondered if he would be ok. Immediately coming to the sensible conclusion that with the snails constant, if slow shuffle, the bird seed would eventually get knocked off.

What fascinated me most were his eyes, tiny beady bright things glistening on grey slippery stalks, seeing all, but in what form? Could he see my green jumper with its frilly white collar and pea sized stain? Could he see my eyes behind my glasses and if he could, did I look monstrous? My hair, I expect, was plain weird.
Was he able to sense that I was not a threat?

Then a slight movement, a wave almost and the snail trudged along completely covering the plate. Was my nosiness upsetting him? I hoped not. But not willing to take a chance I left the slow-coach to nibble and, after satisfying himself, wander God knows where leaving a silvery trace in his wake.

I always try to put myself in the shoes of birds and lubricious things. Shoes? I like that! Bit soppy, but soppy or not, I always consider their feelings, they're without qualifications but not stupid.

To say I panic is not overstating it, I do panic, especially if I think I've caused distress. If the creatures could vocalize their upset I'd be ok, but it's the thought of them being silently anxious which upsets me. If I accidentally crush something I kick myself whilst simultaneously comforting myself with the fact that it was a quick death.
Ok 'nuff of the womanly nonsense...I've got bread to bake and cakes to ice and stuff to watch.


Ta Ta!

P.S. I love it when pigeons land on my fence whenever I'm in the kitchen. I like to think they clock me and associate me with nuts.