At least the abundant snails happily carry out their adventures outside. The slugs, it seems, like to come inside.
I don't much like slugs. They lack the cheerful curiousity of snails. And, well, they're slugs. I dislike them less than I dislike leeches. No, I fear them less than I fear leeches, I think I dislike them almost as much.
Generally, I never thought about slugs until I lived in a house in Fitzroy. Quite a lot of Very Big Slugs thought they lived there too, and they often seemed to think it in the middle of the night at about the same time I thought it would be a nice time to go to the toilet.
The toilet was in the backyard, so there were robust and outdoorsy snails as well, which I didn't mind until the night I stepped on one while my feet were only wearing my mum's old pink fluffy hockey socks.
I didn't have slippers because I was enduring rent stress, and preferred to spend any surplus on beer. Which probably explains why I needed to go to the toilet in the middle of the night.
Slugs. And snails. Our slimy neighbours.