My OperaSlugs and politicians. Hmmm... Let me think...
Thursday, January 4, 2007 11:36:36 PM
Danged global warming. We used to have winters that made it worth having a Land Rover, now it's so warm that this morning I found the slugs had gotten in again. It's just not been cold enough to send them into hibernation or whatever they do when it gets below freezing.
It wasn't that long ago that the slugs and me had an agreement. OK, I made all the rules, but they stuck to them. I had a spray can full of stuff they hated, so every night I'd spray the bottom of the side door, and in return they'd stay out. Then I bought a replacement can and the spray didn't work, so I took it back for a replacement. The girl said they didn't do the stuff any more because no one used it. Erm... I do. "Right" she said. "So you're the one." I like to think Robbie Williams was listening in, and felt inspired to write a song.
It seems that most people, typically, wanted something that would kill the slugs off. Why? The last thing I want is to come down in the morning and have to shift dead slugs from outside my back door, besides, 50% of slugs (The black ones) are actually good for your garden, you don't want to be rid of them if you have an ounce of sense in you head, and the others feed the hedgehogs, which are another breed of creature that you want in your garden.
Unfortunately for the hedgehogs, our neighbours put down slug pellets a couple of years ago, and Sonic, the little hodgepig that used to visit our garden tucked into the lifeless remains. She must have thought Christmas had come early, instead they poisoned her. By the time we realised this there was snot running from her nose and she was weeping, she was also terrified of us all of a sudden and the only reason we could catch her was that she couldn't run like she used to. She died before we could get the to the vet.
So now we have slugs multiplying like rabbits and I have slugmess all over the kitchen and no way of keeping the little buggers out that won't harm them, and I find myself thinking of John Prescott.
Why? Because they're both slimy? Because they're both misunderstood?
Anyone who's read much of my pontifications will know that I don't like politicians. I'm sure there's an exception to the rule that anyone who actually wants to be a politician is the very person who should never be allowed to do the job, but I have yet to meet one. Like slugs, you can't live with them, but it's wrong to kill them off, now Prescott, he's like the slug that fights back. I don't want anyone to think that I actually like the guy but in some ways I do admire him more than the usual bunch of self important half-wits.
Let's be honest, he got a bum deal with the 'Two Jags' deal. The number of cars he owns means nothing, just looking down our street there are several people who appear to have two cars, and Prescott didn't actually own any Jags. They were official vehicles which were picked by the people responsible for his security. He had very little say in the choice of official vehicle, if any. But what I really liked was when he landed one on the guy that egged him. Now me, I'm an old peacenik from waaay back, but I do hate these cowards who think that it's OK to throw things at people that they know can't hit back, and that's why I suddenly developed a new respect for Prescott when he actually did it. One, two. Right in the kisser. Eat your liver, Balboa.
Yesterday he once again gave me one of those joyous little treats when, having been asked onto the Today' programme to speak about Tony Blair's New Year's speech, the interviewer said before they began could he just ask him one question about the death of Saddam Hussein. Sounding decidedly miffed, Prescott agreed. The interviewer asked for his personal opinion on the way the hanging was conducted. Prescott gave a very full and probably honest answer. "So are you saying..." began the interviewer.
"You said one question" pointed out Prescott.
"Yes, but I just want to ask..."
"You said one question. I answered it. There can't be any part of it you didn't understand, now can we get back to what you bought me here for?"
"Yes, but you said..."
"Never mind what I said. You said one question and I've answered it. Now are you going to ask me about Tony Blair's speech or are we going to keep on dancing until we run out of time?"
I've been waiting so long to hear someone just answer back instead of flapping about. I may have no time for politicians, but right then John Prescott was my hero.
I wonder if I could persuade him to sponsor a slugs rights bill.
It wasn't that long ago that the slugs and me had an agreement. OK, I made all the rules, but they stuck to them. I had a spray can full of stuff they hated, so every night I'd spray the bottom of the side door, and in return they'd stay out. Then I bought a replacement can and the spray didn't work, so I took it back for a replacement. The girl said they didn't do the stuff any more because no one used it. Erm... I do. "Right" she said. "So you're the one." I like to think Robbie Williams was listening in, and felt inspired to write a song.
It seems that most people, typically, wanted something that would kill the slugs off. Why? The last thing I want is to come down in the morning and have to shift dead slugs from outside my back door, besides, 50% of slugs (The black ones) are actually good for your garden, you don't want to be rid of them if you have an ounce of sense in you head, and the others feed the hedgehogs, which are another breed of creature that you want in your garden.
Unfortunately for the hedgehogs, our neighbours put down slug pellets a couple of years ago, and Sonic, the little hodgepig that used to visit our garden tucked into the lifeless remains. She must have thought Christmas had come early, instead they poisoned her. By the time we realised this there was snot running from her nose and she was weeping, she was also terrified of us all of a sudden and the only reason we could catch her was that she couldn't run like she used to. She died before we could get the to the vet.
So now we have slugs multiplying like rabbits and I have slugmess all over the kitchen and no way of keeping the little buggers out that won't harm them, and I find myself thinking of John Prescott.
Why? Because they're both slimy? Because they're both misunderstood?
Anyone who's read much of my pontifications will know that I don't like politicians. I'm sure there's an exception to the rule that anyone who actually wants to be a politician is the very person who should never be allowed to do the job, but I have yet to meet one. Like slugs, you can't live with them, but it's wrong to kill them off, now Prescott, he's like the slug that fights back. I don't want anyone to think that I actually like the guy but in some ways I do admire him more than the usual bunch of self important half-wits.
Let's be honest, he got a bum deal with the 'Two Jags' deal. The number of cars he owns means nothing, just looking down our street there are several people who appear to have two cars, and Prescott didn't actually own any Jags. They were official vehicles which were picked by the people responsible for his security. He had very little say in the choice of official vehicle, if any. But what I really liked was when he landed one on the guy that egged him. Now me, I'm an old peacenik from waaay back, but I do hate these cowards who think that it's OK to throw things at people that they know can't hit back, and that's why I suddenly developed a new respect for Prescott when he actually did it. One, two. Right in the kisser. Eat your liver, Balboa.
Yesterday he once again gave me one of those joyous little treats when, having been asked onto the Today' programme to speak about Tony Blair's New Year's speech, the interviewer said before they began could he just ask him one question about the death of Saddam Hussein. Sounding decidedly miffed, Prescott agreed. The interviewer asked for his personal opinion on the way the hanging was conducted. Prescott gave a very full and probably honest answer. "So are you saying..." began the interviewer.
"You said one question" pointed out Prescott.
"Yes, but I just want to ask..."
"You said one question. I answered it. There can't be any part of it you didn't understand, now can we get back to what you bought me here for?"
"Yes, but you said..."
"Never mind what I said. You said one question and I've answered it. Now are you going to ask me about Tony Blair's speech or are we going to keep on dancing until we run out of time?"
I've been waiting so long to hear someone just answer back instead of flapping about. I may have no time for politicians, but right then John Prescott was my hero.
I wonder if I could persuade him to sponsor a slugs rights bill.
