And so, in my twenty eighth year, it came to pass that I'd become so domestic that not only was I posting about cooking, but gardening advice.
Specifically, how to deal with slugs. In a pet friendly manner, considering we have two cats that do venture outside with us occasionally. Hopefully eco-friendly, for no other reason than the fact that I don't really like gloves, and most chemicals mean wearing them.
Want to know what I discovered? If you use orange halves - like, for example, the orange halves left over from the juice we make - as bait, you can collect all your gardens slugs with very little effort, for convenient disposal.
Okay. I just need a moment. I just blogged the words "You can collect all your gardens slugs" with a straight face.
Alright. So what I do is take the orange halves we've used each day, and lay them in front of the plants that have slug or snail damage. I usually put them out when I get home from work, around seven. Then, before bed, I go out and collect them, and pick up any stragglers who're making their way to or from Orange Heaven with a stick. I put them in a plastic bag and tie it tightly so the little buggers can't get out, and toss it in the bin. I don't know whether that means Death to Slugs through lack of air, or Slug Fiesta as they feast on the orange for a while, or Slugageddon, as they eat each other to survive, but I'm not going to individually squish each one, and salt is just too cruel. Whether they survive on the orangey goodness to the tip I do not know, and do not want to know. I'm not really into Slug Welfare, I just want the little bastards to stop eating my capsicum and chilli plants without killing my cats.
It's all less icky than it sounds, really.
What isn't less icky is the song that came into my head as I was doing Slug Patrol tonight.
To the tune of "Islands in the Stream":
Slimy, slimy slugs.
That is what you are
Coming from afar
For my orange halves
Come away with me
To the rubbish bin
You can eat all the orange,
And that's where it tails off when Jeremy gives me the "Why are you doing this to me?" look.
Honestly, that man has the patience of a saint.