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Don’t pay me by the hour to do your garden for I shall rescue the worms, woodlice and snails. I shall attempt to reunite a mother snail with her young, I shall wait patiently whilst the newly homeless woodlice scatter to a new domain. The beetle will be allowed the time to rush away from the scene of the devastation to bed its way into another untarnished part of the flower bed.

I shall tread gingerly in the garden shed so as not to disturb the spider, hiding away in the joins of the roof and yet I shall release the moth whose wing is caught in its silky web. I shall cut away the ivy with a careful stealth in case our friendly blackbird has its nest therein and even the slugs in the ground shall be spared a salty death. The humble bee may complete her task before my hoe strikes upon the land where she busys and buzzes.

But the midges, yes, those filthy hoggish hoardes of teeming tiny flapping freaks, those proboscis-pumping perverts who live out their orgy of vampiric voracity in my back yard, they must die in whatever ways I can find; with poison, with fire, by drowning.  Kill them all! Spare none! Let them perish!

Today's instant piano tune is dedicated to Tim Smith.

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