Saving Snails

My building gets a lot of stray snails. Most of the time it's a bit gross as they congregate on the only path from the sidewalk to the doors and inevitably something goes 'crunch' and it's really disgusting.

But sometimes I sort of like the snails. They aren't as disgusting as slugs, what with their cute shells. Maybe I read too many kindly children's books about snails. Regardless, they aren't cringe-worthy like their shell-less relatives.

The thing is, they obviously tend to come out more in the rain- at least leaving the dirt and plants to hang out on concrete, this is where the trouble begins. But usually it is relegated to the ground floor. So imagine my surprise this morning upon leaving my flat, to find a snail, three stories up (or two, if you're British). I don't know what the snail was thinking, labouring up the stairs, but they had dried out quite a bit, and I thought the poor thing was going to die up there.

So I tried to pick it up.

At first, it twinged and seemed to retract a bit. "Good, this will be easy.", I thought to myself. Until the little fucker clung fast to the concrete steps and wouldn't let go. I pulled and pulled, fearful I was going to pull it's shell right off. I mean really, I exerted some degree of pressure, and the little shit clung fast. I suppose I could have tried touching it's gelatinous body to make it contract, but I draw the line there. Touching shell, okay, touching slimy body, not okay. After a minute of this exercise, I decided I'd had enough.

So I left it there, to perish on the concrete skywalk, or likely to be stepped on. All I did was try to save it.

Stupid snail.

In other news, seeing 'the other couple' tonight, office party tomorrow, birthday party Saturday, and off to Hartlepool again on Tuesday. Expect prolific writing (or porn surfing) whilst on the train for eight hours.