Not a true Australian

Recently one of the dads at school was telling me how he’d played professional rugby as a teenager. He said he got to play against some really great players and then listed off a few names. I could tell by his tone that I was supposed to be impressed by this and that these were people I should have heard of and so I pretended to be wowed but I had no idea who he was talking about. Later I relayed the conversation to Ben and because I couldn’t quite remember the names I said the closest names I could remember: something like Lumos and Kamekaze. Ben roared with laughter. Apparently I should know who Jonah Lomu and David Campese are. Obviously, I’m not a true Australian.

The wool “slug gone” pellets I tried are useless. This week I started to notice holes in my pak choi.


Then I saw the tell-tale sign of slime right on top of the wool pellets.


The cheeky bugger crawled right across the top of them! The other night I decided to wait until dark and then go and investigate with a torch. It was very timely because just as I went into the greenhouse I saw the antenna of a giant blank slug just about to crawl over the side of the raised garden bed. That’s the end of midnight feasting in my greenhouse for that slug. Now I just need someone to stand guard all night long in the greenhouse.