John Cleese and slug death

The gravel pathways of recreation ground have become a cemetery. The rains have laid waste to hundreds of able bodied slugs, leeches and snails. Their damaged bodies lie in a pool of sticky mucous, antennae reaching out for a helping hand. You stare hard at the path , keeping an eye out for potential invertebrate land mines, dreading the squelch and burst of gunk. You hear the crunch of heavy boots. You look up. It's the John Cleese lookalike bird watcher with his poncy binoculars around his neck. You always nod and smile at him. But when he returns the head nod, it is never really a nod. It is a nod in reverse. An imperious head tilt if you will. As though he is acknowledging the presence of lesser being. He looks up, binoculars at his eyes in a flash. The squelch is unmistakable. Serves him right.

(Image courtesy: Getty)