The Great Escape
It was early morning, the patio doors were wide open displaying a scene of sunny tranquility. I had my head in the Saturday papers, munching on some toast and sipping tea.
A loud noise broke the silence, the resulting tea slick progressively giving Tony Blair 5 o'clock shadow.
I looked up and was confronted by a flurry of feathers, which translated into a small bird attacking something. The bird spied me. I instinctively did not move a muscle and it too froze. I am not a 'bird fancier' so all I can say is that it was elegant and brown. It was proudly presiding over a small snail which was covered in a froth of bubbles, as though perfectly dressed for service by a Michelin star chef.
The once hectic scene was now intensely static, like a rubber band at breaking point. The birds beady eye drilled into mine asking lots of questions. These were all answered at once when I took a sip of my depleted tea reserve. The bird flew to the other side of the patio, escaping the perceived threat.
The peace once more established, I carried on reading my mulchy paper. Several minutes passed and I glanced up again. The snail had performed a Lazareth, and was casually sliding
away from the scene. A very slow but miraculous escape. The bird did not dare approach, the tea loving scarecrow obliviously taking care of that.
I was watching the 'Great British Menu' the other day and noted that someone had decided to cook 'wild' snails from his garden. The traditional French 'escargot' cooking method involves Court Bouillon which is typically a heady mixture of white wine, water, shallots and many herbs. Once cooked they are then served with a garlic/herb butter mix.
I am not sure whats worse, being boiled alive by a cursing chef or eaten alive by our feathered friends. I have never sampled snail, and certainly did not want to eat this creature after it had so bravely won its freedom. I was quite happy with Marmite on my toast.
A loud noise broke the silence, the resulting tea slick progressively giving Tony Blair 5 o'clock shadow.
I looked up and was confronted by a flurry of feathers, which translated into a small bird attacking something. The bird spied me. I instinctively did not move a muscle and it too froze. I am not a 'bird fancier' so all I can say is that it was elegant and brown. It was proudly presiding over a small snail which was covered in a froth of bubbles, as though perfectly dressed for service by a Michelin star chef.
The once hectic scene was now intensely static, like a rubber band at breaking point. The birds beady eye drilled into mine asking lots of questions. These were all answered at once when I took a sip of my depleted tea reserve. The bird flew to the other side of the patio, escaping the perceived threat.
The peace once more established, I carried on reading my mulchy paper. Several minutes passed and I glanced up again. The snail had performed a Lazareth, and was casually sliding
away from the scene. A very slow but miraculous escape. The bird did not dare approach, the tea loving scarecrow obliviously taking care of that.
I was watching the 'Great British Menu' the other day and noted that someone had decided to cook 'wild' snails from his garden. The traditional French 'escargot' cooking method involves Court Bouillon which is typically a heady mixture of white wine, water, shallots and many herbs. Once cooked they are then served with a garlic/herb butter mix.
I am not sure whats worse, being boiled alive by a cursing chef or eaten alive by our feathered friends. I have never sampled snail, and certainly did not want to eat this creature after it had so bravely won its freedom. I was quite happy with Marmite on my toast.
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