Nigel may be a buddhist, he is certainly the only neighbour that uses a compost toilet, lives some of the time in a wigwam and is probably a millionaire.
Recently in the supermarket I pointed out the Alaskan Salmon in the freezer section, something that I thought was splendid both in appearance and that it appeared so far from those cold shores here in deep rural France. “I’m vegetarian”, he informed, although I had in fact only forgotten.
As he neared the exit I enquired, “I bet you kill ants though?”.
“Never!”
“Mosquitos?”
“Non plus”.
He’s not French and I wonder if he really is that perfect when it comes to bestial invasions.
I draw the line when a thousand ants cross the threshold and I once spent a week in a small room in Hong Kong with a silent mosquito that was slowly draining me of blood. I found it eventually during the day asleep and full. I didn’t gently lift him to freedom.
And last night in the pitch dark, returning through torrential rain several snails perished unintentionally, on neither of our parts, with a resounding crack as I stumbled towards the front door.
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