I have killed a snail. Washed it together with the blankets. It’s against my life philosophy. I don’t even kill mosquitoes. The image of the poor little fellow desperately gasping for breath to finally disappear in the whirlpool is going to haunt me forever – or at least for a few hours.
To continue the macabre: Brian brought a dead pigeon chick and tried to bury it in the blankets (no wonder they need to be washed every day) at four o’clock in the morning. Judging by the smell it must have been dead and buried for a few days. I can only assume its death was the result of Brian-Charlie cooperation. No use interrogating them, though. Thick as thieves.