Today it was time to check the garden. Under simultaneous rain and sunshine, I picked through the weeds, spiking the slugs that tumbled, like gobstoppers, from grassy pockets. Slugs are the slowest things in the world, and I am sorry for spiking them, but they make holes in the things I want to eat. If I were to encounter the Slug Princess, I would strike up a conversation about how pretty her freshwater pearls look around her neck (where exactly lies a slug’s neck?). Then I would strike up a bargain with her, allowing her subjects to slurp their way freely across the vast plains of my garden, with nothing more to fear from the spike, as long as they ate only Japanese Knotweed. the Princess would curl a benevolent lip, and agree to the deal, and all would be well in Oakfield. “The fabrics, buttons and beads are often vintage, found in thrift stores, markets or estate sales, and many of the snail shells I’ve found while digging in the soil.” What is an estate sale? MB x
