It really has. It's been a week, almost a week, since my last post on this infamous blog. Where does the time go? Does somebody hoover it up? Does it fly by like a Concorde did until New York got them abolished? Seriously, what happens to time? Many days have passed since I hit Dieter with a cabbage, he may think I'm going soft. I'm sure it was only yesterday that I hit his noggin and yet it has been a week. A week since anything of note happened. One minute I was a little bud then I was a performer on Broadway and then I found my way to commanding an army of slugs. What happened in the intervening years? Were they stolen? If so, who would steal my years? Can I report them to the police? My years have been stolen and I demand them back. It is all quite disturbing and I'm feeling rather flustered. I need to lie down and take a breather. Perhaps I can get one of my trained slugs to make me some tea. However, last time one of my slugs made me tea he accidentally fell into the cup and boiled himself. He tasted like a mushroom. No, I shall have to do it myself whilst I work out what has happened to the past few days, week however long it has been. I want my time back and I demand answers. Anyway, let this be my blog post while I gather my thoughts and write something much more coherent soon... you'd be so lucky!
I'm not very good at football/soccer/whatever one calls it. However, I enjoy giving a good kick to some of my cabbages now and again. Now, I'm no David Beckpork or Greasiano Ronaldo but, I must say, I do have a pretty good aim especially when my neighbour Dieter comes into view. Once I kicked a cabbage so hard that it him square on the noggin. He shook his fists at me and threatened revenge, however he has yet to do anything. So I can kick back, keep sipping my strangely-coloured water and admire the little pixies that are dancing happily in my back garden.
In Maputo I am known for my love of tinned tuna.