The season of lizard issues is upon us. We have quite a community of lizards around our little terrace. I like them.
They don't give me the screaming hoohas unlike slugs or millipedes or Paris Hilton. They perform useful ant-devouring services, they have a cute way of running away whilst pretending to make a leisurely exit, and the have benign-looking eyes. And so, I repeat, I like them. But not as much as Mr F likes them.
'Yey, lizards!' he cries. 'Let's feed them.'
Yesterday he gave them grissini, but he has been known to share his bacon and eggs with them. This cannot be a good thing. It must have a deleterious effect on lizard cholesterol levels, plus it throws out of balance the appropriate Reptile/Human relationship. Get too familiar with them, they start dropping by. Then they move in. This happened last summer. The terrace doors were left open all day and before we knew it we had tiny gecko paws pattering across our floors. And these guys are highly-strung. A sudden noise and they skitter under the cooker, you turn on the oven to make dinner and voila! Frittered Lizard.
So it has to stop. Do you hear me, Mr 'Talk to the Animals' Fitzpatrick? No more lizard snacks. No running buffet. Let them eat ants.

After last week's post about my mother's declining health several readers wrote to sympathise. Thank you. I greatly appreciated your messages. And on we shuffle.