Not for the squeamish

A propos of nothing, I remarked to Penny during Single-handed on TV last night (v good btw, as was Jam & Jerusalem), that when the world ends, slugs will probably survive. What tenacious creatures! Fling blue pellets at them and they come back for more. Inspecting the water butt yesterday, I found three which must have hatched inside and never seen the light. They were pale to the point of being luminous, like something out of the world of Gollum. The main pic today, which I hope Lorry at the Guardian sees only fleetingly, sensitive soul, shows what they do to Yellow Underwings when they come across them sleeping in our garden. Yuk. The other pic is interesting too, though I cocked it up by forgetting to change my camera from digital macro mode. (I hadn't been photographing moths for once, just my beer at the Black Horse in Askwith, cos I was struck by the beauty of the composition, of beer and glass label. see if you are too, left...) Anyway, this is a corner of the beautiful little church down the lane at Weston, near Otley. It was Penny who noticed the silvery line all the way up. The slugs' path to Heaven. Jacob's Ladder for slugs. Lovely in its way, even when incompetently blurred.