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by Loobylu's Mum
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I lift the lid.
- Bonjour, mes amis.
Not a sign of vermous
activity. And then - a pink head emerges from the whiskers
of a totally cleaned-up mango stone.
- Bonjour, madame. Nous
avons faim.
- Zut alors! Tiens.
Tiens.
Back to the house, vite,
vite.
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Open the fridge - lettuce
going brown in the plastic bag - good - into the icecream
bucket - out of date yoghurt - good - gravy and roast veg
from last week - good - seedy-looking spaghetti sauce - no
good (too much garlic) - ditto the bubbly curry (too much
everything).
Into the pantry, vite, vite.
Smashed weetbixes in the bottom
of the container - they can soften up in the yoghurt - also
the boring old grey muesli (who was I kidding when I bought
that?) - cold pizza on the kitchen bench - into the blender
- cuisine minceur we'll call it (have to cater for
their tiny wormy mouths). All of that squished into the bucket
- a handful of paper bags from the back verandah - miam, miam.
Back down the garden path,
vite, vite.
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Put the paper bags into
the birdbath - that'll soften 'em up. Open the worm
farm gently and pour in the delicious slurry - top with
paper bags, and cover with chopped pea straw.
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- Bon appetit, mes amis.
- Merci, madame - c'est
formidable.
Gulp. Gurgle. Wallow.
Swallow.
Ferme des vers francaise
on the move again.
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