Tuesday, 11 June 2019

SNAIL PACE

It wasn't raining quite so seriously this morning but I scooped up my umbrella from outside the front door anyway, locked up, and strode into the drizzle. I'd make it to the bus stop if I walked quickly.

-

"I'm sorry I'm late," I said an hour later, finally arriving in a fluster of raincoat and rucksack.

I had missed the bus, and by extension the 'Stress and Resilience Seminar' in the board room at 9am. There was a certain irony about that I thought, as I whirled my laptop into motion.

What had happened was that halfway to the bus stop I noticed a snail crawling its way out of my umbrella.

It was a very ordinary snail: slimy skirts and shiny shell; two antennae waved at me as it twisted its slippery head. For some reason I imagined it peering at me with a monocle and gesturing to me in a posh, sleepy accent.

"I say, dear boy. Would you mind awfully, dropping me off?"

I didn't, and so I did. I crouched by the side of the road, waiting for him to slide off my umbrella into the undergrowth. I don't think he wanted to go, so eventually, I pinched forefinger and thumb around his shell and popped him off into the leaves.

"Why thank you, old bean."

The bus sailed by. The drizzle continued as I waited for the next one.

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