There has been an invasion of my privacy and I want the world to know about it!
In-between running away from cows, I do like to take the time to keep my flat tidy. I had noticed recently that the windows haven’t been cleaned since I moved in almost two years ago so I did make an effort over the Bank Holiday weekend to buff them to a suitable sheen. I also made sure to put all the washing away and clean the dishes although admittedly I half-heartedly hoovered on Monday evening; it needed a charge and I soldiered through regardless.
It’s a level of domesticity that I don’t normally document because it interferes with my macho image. You can’t be seen as a spokesperson for toxic masculinity if you’re too busy wiping down the kitchen tops and dusting the blancmanges (or whatever it is that people dust).
Whence I awoke in the fresh morn though I noticed a familiar sight; over the living room carpet, in and around the sofa and armchair, there was a trail of glistening slime. It’s fragile and tranquil beauty was a wonder to behold, what a marvel indeed. It was also a huge annoyance in the backside given the time I had spent trying to keep the bugger clean.
What is it that keeps messing up my carpet? If David Bellamy was here, and he’s not, something I am very pleased about, he would probably say that it was a small insect, a woodlouse or a spider, that was carrying out some antics during the night when I slept. The faint lines of silver goo were to indicate the presence of my fellow animals, my houseguests, who were happy to live in a steady harmony in that I would be there during the day and they were there to fill their boots during the evening.
I aspire to something else though, an uneasy thought process which could indicate something much more deadlier and much more sinister. What if it isn’t insects scurrying about the place, what if it is English television and radio presenter Andy Crane who has taken to compressing his body into a flat state and living underneath my sofa? He waits in some kind of bizarre chrysalis, a state of hibernation, lying dormant for most of the month but every so often comes out and leaves a long, winding reminder that he is there and he isn’t going anywhere.
What is his reason for being there? How did he get in? Did he fly in when I had the bathroom window open to get some air in? I suppose we’ll never really know. I do, however, try to be considerate when sitting on the living room furniture so as not to damage him if he is there. I would hate to squash the old boy.
10 comments on “Slime Mystery”
Slugs. It’s slugs. We get them sometimes in the kitchen.
Unless Andy Crane is also a type of slug, in which case, yes, it might be him.
He never looked, sounded, behaved or acted like a slug. That’s still not conclusive proof though. We need some kind of science master to help with this predicament.
Logically, of course, Andy Crane should be a type of crane.
Exactly! A huge towering metallic monster, hauling vast quantities of bricks and pipes around a building site.
It would be a better world if all children’s TV presenters were the object suggested by their name. Anthea Turner could be a turntable and Konnie Huq could be a hook.
Andi Peters could be a… erm, Neil Buchanan would be a… oh.
Sarah Green would be… I’m not very good at this.
It was a good try and I enjoyed it all the same. Well done mate.
Emma Forbes would be… a Forbes.
I give up.
Emma Forbes could be four bees. And Sarah Greene could be an open space in a village where cricket is played.
Four bees… what would the formation look like? Surely she’d need more than four unless they were big bees.