The Snail

Now far be it for me to complain about the company I keep out here on the terrace, but when my only companion is a snail, well, you have to just wonder.

Lisbeth is busy either working in the flat or, more often, cutting and slashing in the garden. The reason there is so much to do in the garden is because, as my previous post indicated, it rains and rains and rains. Hence everything grows and grows and grows.

To me, it isn't that much of a problem. I stand about under the veranda where rain and sun are both pretty much OK with me. I was taken aback, however, when the excess damp tempted a snail to journey up my leg and then reside for several days on my back.

Don't get me wrong. Snails are very nice in their place. They don't move overly fast so don't disturb whatever reverie I may be enjoying. However, they are sadly lacking in the conversation department. And believe me, I've tried. This one preferred to track up and down my back - pretty aimlessly - as far as I can tell. Then it just left.

Life eh! Snails: they come and they go. What's the point?