A sluggish reaction

When it comes to unwanted visitors, my mother is one of the 22 percent. She's part of a sizeable group of people with a zero-tolerance approach to trespass. I don't agree with her perspective, even though I know she intends no harm. She simply wants to protect what she has from those that seek to destroy it. And if they venture too close to her... well, she'll throw them over the fence.

Yes, mum's a snail chucker. According to a recent Royal Horticultural Society survey, 22% of people questioned had thrown snails out of their gardens. In mum's case, they're not piling up in the neighbour's pond or landing on their conservatory roof but are arriving on some wasteland at the edge of the South Downs. This is a compromise I'm prepared to accept. Murderous slug pellets are not for her, nor the extraordinarily cruel salt cellar. As a result, I reckon her lettuce can still be described as ethically sound. Assuming, of course, you can find any lettuce that hasn’t been nibbled off at the root.

Here in Ringmer, I'm resigned to the presence of snails. In fact, I'm rather fond of them. Apparently they're keen on our shady flower beds. Because of this, delicate plants are kept in pots. Robust, foul-tasting shrubs are planted in our garden. Going outside on a damp evening requires either a torch or walking on tiptoes. When it's dark, I totter down the path like an untutored ballerina.

Unlike me, mum's not entirely happy with her snail situation. She's convinced that some of her expelled visitors are returning, albeit a little more tatty around the edges than when they left. I think she's probably right. A few years ago, an amateur researcher discovered that snails have a strong homing instinct. If moved thirty feet from their home, they could easily find their way back. Some could manage 100 yards without too much of a problem. Well, unless they were in a hurry.

I can see two solutions for mum. One involves treating those garden snails as the French might, served in garlic butter and accompanied by some of the salad they favour. Unpalatable in every sense, as far as I’m concerned. The other solution would require a catapult, which doesn’t seem a great deal better. Actually, I suppose there's a third option. Perhaps I should open a snail sanctuary.

First published on Viva Lewes 24th April 2014: www.vivalewes.com