Evidence that snails and Steinbeck were meant to be together

I stepped on a snail on Monday evening. It must have been a Big Daddy snail because it went 'CRACK' and then 'CRUNCH' under my shoe as though I'd stepped on a pound of nut brittle. I think I even heard it cry, 'Not yet! I haven't been on my Caribbean cruise! Or abseiled down the Shard! Spare me!'

I hate stepping on snails. But this was even more significant, because I had just been to see Steinbeck's 'Of Mice and Men' - a National Theatre production which had been filmed and was showing in my local cinema.

Have you read the novel? I won't completely spoil it for you if you haven't, but let's just say that two people in the novel get bones broken. And this particular production doesn't hold back on the cracking sounds. Think SNAP but not the card game. More, tree trunks being broken in a hurricane.

It was these cracking sounds I was remembering as I walked down the dark alleyway JUST at the moment when the snail and I met, neither of us realising a murder was about to be committed, and the snail went CRACK.

Boy, did I jump!

Unfortunately for the snail, I didn't jump quickly enough, otherwise he might have lived to cruise slash abseil another day.

I kicked my shoes off as soon as I got in the house. There's nothing more disturbing than bits of fresh corpse in a carpet.

I often walk home in the dark alone after a night out. (Should I say this here? Any axe murderers reading this, look away, please, or click on another post about grammar or things that happen to me at bus stops.)

Your imagination goes wild, though, doesn't it, especially after watching a film whose varied and multiple key themes are death, death and death? Not only did I leap on a snail and think someone was behind me having their bones broken, but I also flinched when a group of big guys approached me on an ill-lit road as I neared home, grieving over the snail. The guys weren't hooded, but they were shouting and laughing, pushing each other in play-fight mode. Uh oh, I thought.

Then I caught a snatch of their conversation as they passed me. I thought they'd be saying, 'Are you gonna bash 'er first, or shall I?' .... 'Have you got your baseball bat?'

But, no.

'Nah, I hate Lurpak,' said one. 'I always have that olive oil spread.'

'Are you f******g joking?' said his mate. 'Lurpak every time!'

In fact, in terms of violence, if it were a comparison between me and the big shouty guys, I think my random act of snailocide would make me the guiltier party.

This provides me with an excellent link back to 'Of Mice and Men' in which Lennie, a big guy, can't help killing small animals by accident, because he doesn't know his own strength.

And I couldn't have found a more serendipitous link to finish my ramble of a blog post with if I'd thought of one myself at the start and planned the bloody thing as I should have done.

Cheers, Lennie. RIP all your mice and puppies. And RIP Mr Big Daddy Snail.  I hold you in my heart. And, bits of you, in the sole of my shoe.

Fran was sceptical that googling 'snail in heaven' would yield results. O she of little faith.