Now I may be no gardener but come on chaps, give a snail a break. As British weather totters between humid, cool and wet, those little Brians - remember he of woolly scarf fame in The Magic Roundabout?
- are being persecuted by gardeners up and down the country. Here in Mallorca, garden snails are of great culinary interest and so, should there be an unprecedented outbreak of them in gardens across the island as there has been in the UK, every self respecting Mallorcan would be out in force.
I have spent several damp and humid nights in the past few years with Mallorcan chef Maria, watching her whip up every little beastie sporting a hard hat and antennae into a voluminous plastic sack.
These little captives are then served up in one of Maria’s special garlic broths at her mountain restaurant in Fornalutx. Now, most British aficionados prefer the mincing French petit-gris variety which, shall we say, have less of a waistline.
If a snail’s got to meet his maker, isn’t it better for him to have at least served a useful purpose? Much as Britons might be appalled to think of 
big and bloated garden snails ending up in a cooking pot, are their alternatives any better? I mean, there is the Royal Horticultural Society, no less, sadistically advocating stamping on them (cover your ears with that scarf, Brian), cutting their heads off with secateurs (Yuk!) and drowning them in basins of beer. Well, if you’ve got to go, drinking yourself to death is probably the favourable option.
My suggestion is to pick up all those little Brians in the back garden and take them to the nearest wood and give them their liberty. They can then chomp their way through piles of bracken and leaves and if one day some passing predator makes his move, so be it. Surely a quick demise at the webbed feet or tongue of a toad has to be better than at the cruel mercy of a pair of secateurs?
