Went for a meal this evening with Bert the Slug. Bert obviously had to be hidden in my pocket otherwise we wouldn't have been allowed into the restaurant. I tried numerous times to coax him out but he refused believing that if he were visible then the staff and the patrons would throw a fit.
So, I ordered food for two looking like a real greedy guts and appearing to be a rather sad individual. I had to stealthily feed Bert his morsels, carefully putting bits and pieces of food into my pocket for him to eat.
Anyhoo, I got to the shrimp tempura when I was given a rather strange reddish-looking sauce to dip the tempura into. I did so and was revolted. I exclaimed, 'this tastes like vomit!' causing all the customers and staff to stare at me. I dipped a crumb into the sauce for Bert to try and he too agreed that the sauce did taste like vomit.
I alerted the waiter who refused to believe me and refused to try it. So naturally I did the only thing I could do which was to go home, get five cabbages then return and hurl them at the restaurant.
My slugs later returned contaminated the batter.
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!
Sometimes you just have one of those days, don't you? I had mine today - one of those days. I don't know why I get one of those days. Not the one of those days as in one of those days I'm going to get you and turn your head into a flower pot but one of those days where you just feel ugh, you know, one of those days. It had started off perfectly normally. I had woken up feeling almost as fresh as a trampled daisy, spotted Dieter watering his rose bush so I nipped out and launched a cabbage at the back of his unsuspecting head then went back inside, joyously before feeling deflated and knowing I was having one of those days. Despite my best efforts, it still remained one of those days. Nothing productive happened, my slugs were evidently having marriage problems, my finger was dried up and unable to write down a single word and my pipe remained empty. It was just one of those days. Even Mr Snazzy, my famed moustache, seemed to lose his sheen. So I crawled back into bed, literally crawled as I was moderately intoxicated, and went into an eerie slumber that didn't refresh me at all, naturally. I say naturally because I knew it was one of those days.
In Maputo I am known for my love of tinned tuna.