We're away for a couple of days so here's tomorow's instalment.
I said a while back I couldn't harm a fly, and this is true, mainly because I'm useless at hitting them. Slugs however...
Snip, snip, snip, and their entrails spill onto the patio.
Sip, sip, sip, and there they are floating upside down in the beer trap.
Nibble, nibble, nibble, and there goes the blue poison, flooding slowly through their system.
Pinch, pinch, pinch, goes the salt, and there they are shrivelling up like a scrotum in the north sea.
It's a bloody jungle out there, a killing zone. It's a war, and I've got the taste for it. The two hundred yard stare of a veteran; the smell of napalm in the morning; some chianti and fava beans. I'm like an Israeli jack-boot stamping on a Palestinian face, forever and ever.
Oh.
The horror. The horror.
About Me
- Gary
- In my twenties I was a failed poet. In my thirties I wrote a book on gambling which was very nearly published. In my forties I wrote a small book about moving from London to Shropshire, which remains unpublished. Into my fifties and the quest continues...
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