Sin City

The rain turned the road into a river. It bullied the trees and slashed through the glow of the sodium lights. And, by the score, they crept through the wet, confident that all witnesses were abed.

I, returning from my annual night out, watched disgusted. The city was slimed with lascivious activity. On every street corner they were, in couples. Slick bodies pulsing. I stepped over them as best I could, averting my gaze from their urgency.

Tomorrow I shall write to my MP. Climate change will put an end to the winter fuel allowance. Instead every righteous household should receive a summer allowance.

Of slug pellets.




Julia's latest 100 Word Challenge requires us to add a hundred words to the line The rain turned the road into a river. Which isn't really a challenge at all, since I can't remember a time when our roads weren't a river, or when my children's innocence was put so much at risk...!

Comments

  1. Older Single Mum17 July 2012 at 11:14

    I think you'll like this by a blogger in France http://www.turquoisemoon.co.uk/blog/snails-to-eat/

    ReplyDelete
  2. Older Mum17 July 2012 at 12:44

    Oh brilliant! That was so clever. How many can you fell with your pick axe. They're everywhere at the moment aren't they? I think this piece is another one for 50 shades of parenthood.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Adventures of a Middle-aged Matron17 July 2012 at 14:07

      Annoyingly, I didn't take my pick axe out with me that night.

      Delete
  3. jane @ northernmum17 July 2012 at 17:34

    Oh my what a creepy pic! Fab writing though x

    ReplyDelete
  4. Reluctant Housedad17 July 2012 at 17:44

    Where do they come from? We have a roof terrace and our potted potato plants are infested with them. We counted 20 last night. Can they fly? Are they dropped by birds? Do they come with the soil? Are they intrepid climbers who can smell a potato plant 30 foot up? I'm baffled.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Adventures of a Middle-aged Matron17 July 2012 at 17:48

      Extraordinary. I think they fall from clouds, we have to many. I've always wondered how the water snails that colonise my new pond got to hear of it and made their way there. There's no other water for miles around.

      Delete
  5. A Little Light Work17 July 2012 at 17:52

    I trod on at least 6 putting the bins out last night. Luckily I was wearing my wife's shoes.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Adventures of a Middle-aged Matron17 July 2012 at 19:02

      At least, if they were as preoccupied as the ones I saw, they died in bliss.

      Delete
  6. Rachel Selby17 July 2012 at 19:51

    I must admit I stared at the picture for way longer than was absolutely necessary. I was fascinated by it. Obvioulsy getting in touch with my inner naughty schoolboy.

    ReplyDelete
  7. Anonymous17 July 2012 at 20:36

    Very topical when there are so many of the blinking beasties this year! Great, you make me laugh :-)

    ReplyDelete
  8. Anonymous17 July 2012 at 20:42

    My son will love this. He is obsessed with snails!

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Adventures of a Middle-aged Matron17 July 2012 at 20:56

      I don't think children should be exposed to such louche goings on!

      Delete
  9. Actually Mummy...17 July 2012 at 20:57

    God I loathe when we step on those buggers! The crunch is sickening. I really did not want to see them procreating!

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Adventures of a Middle-aged Matron17 July 2012 at 21:10

      At least it shows you they have some pleasure in life before you squash it out of them!

      Delete
  10. SparksInShadow17 July 2012 at 23:47

    I like how the language of days past, and the way you structured this, made me picture something else entirely before you smoothly revealed your real subject. Being in the US and slug-free much of the time (this year I've seen none at all) I would never have guessed.

    ReplyDelete
  11. Lisa18 July 2012 at 18:31

    Love this. Didn't see it coming. I love your choice of words "It bullied the trees and slashed . . . " BRILLIANT!

    ReplyDelete
  12. Anonymous18 July 2012 at 19:56

    Wonderfully vivid word choices, and an equally vividly drawn (and funny!) narrator. I can hear her rapid, sharp voice.

    ReplyDelete
  13. uwlalum19 July 2012 at 18:10

    I have to say your piece was starting to make me blush a bit. Thought it was going to get an R rating. I'm not sure though if the end was better or worse! Slugs, ewww!

    Nice work!

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Adventures of a Middle-aged Matron19 July 2012 at 19:43

      I tell you, they made me blush when I was picking my way over them last week. Disgraceful behaviour!

      Delete
  14. Anonymous19 July 2012 at 18:54

    Lol. I didn't see the last line and photo on the screen, and was totally flummoxed. Love it.

    ReplyDelete
  15. taochild21 July 2012 at 00:47

    I can feel the sense of raw disgust. Nicely done!

    ReplyDelete
  16. taochild21 July 2012 at 00:48

    I can feel the sense of raw disgust. Nicely done!

    ReplyDelete
  17. Anonymous22 July 2012 at 19:11

    Very descriptive and colorful. Good work!

    ReplyDelete
  18. ventahl24 July 2012 at 14:57

    Well written. Esp the last dry sentence. Can appreciate your loathing! And they eat your vegetables!

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Adventures of a Middle-aged Matron29 July 2012 at 18:22

      They've chomped their way through my entire school veg plot. I grudge them their nocturnal pleasuring!

      Delete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Daily Mail Columnists Should Wear Burkas

Daily Mail columnist Liz Jones has provoked the ire of Twitter with by declaring that mummy bloggers are blinkered dimwits whose lives are spiced by Napisan. I'm afraid I have to sympathise with her, for all of her prejudices echo my own: Writing about my life has pretty much ruined it. Supper last night was an elderly carrot glued to the fridge shelf by a pool of brown mucus and the floor was flooded when I left the bath taps running because Blogger has diverted me from domestic essentials. I've had to shut the children in front of the television when a new post has assailed me and some family members no longer speak to me because Twitter interactions leave me no time to reach the telephone. But there is a big part of me that thinks writing should be hard: you should cringe whenever you press that 'publish' button. Artists – and I'm sorry, I do consider myself an artist – have to wrench the dirtiest, most disgusting part of their inner soul and show it t...
Read more

The Various Uses of Rubber

I have ordered a new pair of wellies from Amazon for the daily walk to school. My current hardly-at-all-old pair has developed a fissure along one toe. I only noticed this when I was wading along the stream that flows brownly past bobbing Argos bags en route to the afternoon pick up, and I was not pleased. They are a glamorous pair with pink spots and white swirls, bought to ease my daughter's pain in ackowledging a wellie-wearing, stream-paddling mother in public. I now distrust wellies with spots and swirls, so order a safe-looking green pair. Better to be waterproof than glamorous. Royal Mail gets them as far as my door, thrusts through a 'Sorry you were out' card, and promptly loses them. Amazon is sympathetic and dispatches a replacement pair. This also makes it to my door and again a card is left. This time I decide to pick them up in person from the Royal Mail depot. The man behind the glass screen makes off with my delivery card and probably has a cup of tea and...
Read more

A DIY Guide to the Middle-Classes

I wonder sometimes what I am. I have lived the last decade on an inner city council estate, amid Oxford academia, in a remote country town and in London suburbia. In the first we were, with our relentless consonants and sagging bookshelves, regarded as aristocrats. In the second, as the 'squeezed middle'. In the third, as city sophisticates and now, sometimes, isolated in my tweed amid the Ralph Lauren and the hoodies, I feel myself a bumpkin. Class should no longer matter. Nowadays, for most of us, it's more a question of perception than birth. But the perception matters. My daughter battles to adjust speech, habits and dress to blend in with each new environment; the political parties compete to woo the amorphous throng they deem Middle England and Melvyn Bragg has started a television series on class and culture. The British, he decides, no longer define themselves by class, but by the music they listen to, the books they read. I listen to Dolly Parton and Beethoven....
Read more