By: Blonde Two
Yesterday afternoon, Blonde One and I were having an impromptu meeting in her room at work. We didn’t have an official agenda, but, as so often happens, the meeting went on for a long time. We jumped from Dartmoor routes to minibus arrangements, from tired youngsters to heavy tents and from long distance walkers to Blonde wild camps.
These are the best sort of meetings because we get loads talked about but often fiddle around doing other jobs as well. Blonde One was sorting out some equipment that had been brought back by one of our DofE youngsters. We were trying to work out whether the slightly wet Trangia stove that she was holding had been cleaned at all. Neither of us wanted to open it in case we got a nasty shock and had to go and clean it. We did, however, notice a very tiny slug sitting quite happily on the lid.
We didn’t really want the slug so, in an effort not to make it feel too unwanted, put it into an old rucksack that Blonde One was throwing in the bin and continued our conversation. A couple of minutes later, the cleaner came in and, after asking if we did want to throw the bag away, muttered, “There’s a slug on here.” To which Blonde One responded, “Oh really, is there?” As you can imagine, there was a bit of Blonde giggling at this point.
We don’t know where the survivor slug is now, he is probably feeling a bit rejected. I hope he hasn’t come home with me as his mates don’t need any help at all munching their way through my row of calabrese plants in the garden. Maybe we will see him again one day!