The Newt has been unfairly branded as the worst boozer among creatures. That dubious accolade must surely go to the slippery slimy slug. They love beer, and can somehow detect the slightest trace of it from a mile away, in much the same way that a dog can sense a bitch in season in the next village. I don’t know about you, but I have come across slugs in some bizarre places.
This wall is one of the few organised places in my home, where there is ‘A Place for Everything, and Everything in its Place’, an adage my Dad tried, but failed, to instill into me. I once found a slug inside that tube connected to a pressure gauge, which I use to check the pressure inside PBs. I usually rinse it before hanging it up, but there must have been a sufficient trace of beer remaining to cause the slug to cross 30ft of concrete, climb the wall, cross to the gauge, descend the tube and jack knife around the end. What dedication.
This is the last of 3 PB’s filled 60 days ago, being served by gravity as I haven’t bothered to connect up the hand pump hose. Simplicity personified, and I haven’t needed to add any CO2 as the yeast is still working. My beer store is a Mecca for slugs of course, and although it is closed with a magnetic seal, I occasionally find one lurking somewhere. How they were getting in was a mystery until quite recently, when I caught one of the blighters in the act. Do you remember the Shape Shifting alien in Terminator II, well this fat little slug somehow squeezed itself through a gap no wider than the thickness of a credit card, then reformed itself on the other side!
There have been about five instances over 30 years where a slug has found its way to paradise hidden inside the tap of the PB . I normally notice as it falls into my glass, the amount of beer wasted depending on when it drops. I say ‘normally’ as on one horrific occasion I had no idea anything was amiss until feeling something slimy in my mouth. UGH! YUK!!
This wall is one of the few organised places in my home, where there is ‘A Place for Everything, and Everything in its Place’, an adage my Dad tried, but failed, to instill into me. I once found a slug inside that tube connected to a pressure gauge, which I use to check the pressure inside PBs. I usually rinse it before hanging it up, but there must have been a sufficient trace of beer remaining to cause the slug to cross 30ft of concrete, climb the wall, cross to the gauge, descend the tube and jack knife around the end. What dedication.
This is the last of 3 PB’s filled 60 days ago, being served by gravity as I haven’t bothered to connect up the hand pump hose. Simplicity personified, and I haven’t needed to add any CO2 as the yeast is still working. My beer store is a Mecca for slugs of course, and although it is closed with a magnetic seal, I occasionally find one lurking somewhere. How they were getting in was a mystery until quite recently, when I caught one of the blighters in the act. Do you remember the Shape Shifting alien in Terminator II, well this fat little slug somehow squeezed itself through a gap no wider than the thickness of a credit card, then reformed itself on the other side!
There have been about five instances over 30 years where a slug has found its way to paradise hidden inside the tap of the PB . I normally notice as it falls into my glass, the amount of beer wasted depending on when it drops. I say ‘normally’ as on one horrific occasion I had no idea anything was amiss until feeling something slimy in my mouth. UGH! YUK!!