It's not often I swear in real life. It's not often I swear on my blog. Although I find myself writing that more often so maybe I'm in denial?
Anyway, I need to swear. We've had an unwelcome visitor in our house over the last week or so.
A big fat slug.
Yes, ladies and gentlemen. A slug.
Not just in the house. In the bloody kitchen!
I have been gagging at the thought of it. I say 'thought' because we weren't able to clap eyes on the slimy little fucker for over a week. We would just come down in the morning to its gross slimy trails all over the laminate floor.
Now, there are numerous ways to evacuate the blighters from your home. There's the common 'salting' method. Anyone who's thrown salt at a slug will know the grossness that ensues - a fizzing brown mass of slug and guts. Just what I wanted in my kitchen. There are slug pellets that you can buy but again, I didn't like the idea of a big slug feasting on poison then sliming away to die under my washing machine or something. You can use human hair - apparently they get caught up in in. Although I'm in that post-pregnancy state of moulting (think a husky dog in Spring and you get the gist) and have enough hair spare to make Duncan Goodhew a weeks worth of wigs, I didn't fancy coating my kitchen in hair. So, we opted for beer. Slugs love it - apparently. They are supposedly attracted to the yeast in it and will fall into a pint after getting off their slimy faces.
At this point I have to say that Matt and I aren't really big drinkers. Matt moreso than me - I like the odd bottle *ahem* glass of wine. Not wanting to go off to the off-licence to buy the mini Jabba-The-Hutt some quality beer Matt said he thought he had some in the garage and appeared with a couple of bottles of Budweiser....dated best before June 2011. "It'll do" he assured me. So that night we poured the beer out into some disposable cups and set them out on the kitchen floor then went off to bed.
The next morning I was expecting to open the kitchen door and find a drunk, totally wasted slug floating in the makeshift booze bait. But no, they were empty. No sign of the slug. Then, out of the corner of my eye I noticed something on the kitchen wall. It wasn't the slug...no...just the remains of what appeared to be a slug party on the paintwork. The slimy little fucker had only gone on a rampage all over one of the walls! It was if it had sniffed the stale beer and thought "Those bastards can't even afford decent beer. I'll show them how much I like a good party". The trails went swirling around the wall and he/she (slugs have both reproductive organs apparently - just call me a slug expert) had even slimed our beloved framed San Francisco prints. I swear it was trying to spell out 'LOSERS'.
 |
| Plasticine reconstruction - no, the slug wasn't blue (didn't want to gross you guys out with a picture) |
Trying not to throw up, I had to bash the slug with the container several times to unstick it from the laminate and then using the lid I scooped it into the container and pressed the lid down.
Job done I left the container on the floor, washed my hands and headed back to bed.
Matt woke up. "Everything okay?" he asked.
"I caught the slug. It was massive."
"Great" He replied a little less enthusiastic than I would have liked but I let him off as it was 3am. "Did you put it outside?".
"No, it's in the container on the kitchen floor. We can get rid of it tomorrow".
Then my mind started racing. Imaging the giant slime ball forcing it's way out of the container like a slug Houdini and going on a rampage on my kitchen worktops, flicking the v's with its tentacles. So, after about 30 minutes of wrestling with my thoughts I ran back downstairs and wrapped the container with tape.
So, we are officially slug free.
Let's hope the slimy little fucker hasn't had any babies.
*boak*
So, we are officially slug free.
Let's hope the slimy little fucker hasn't had any babies.
*boak*
