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Dreadful Nonsense

"I've read your blog. it's really funny. you should write a column." - Jon Ronson

I think I mentioned previously that, while in Brighton, I picked up the funkiest, skankiest, most disgusting looking sea-shell and I carried it around in my bag all day, showing it occasionally to strangers and brought it home, placed prominently in front of the digital radio in our bedroom that sometimes turns itself on in the middle of the night for absolutely no reason whatsoever.
He Who Only… did voice a brief concern that there was still something living inside said skanky shell, but I laughed at his naivety – I am, after all, a veteran of annual sea-side holidays, and I think I know an empty sea shell when I see one.

You can see where this is going, right?

Cut to this morning, when I noticed that something was… well, not quite right with the sea shell. I’d go so far as to say something was… um… oozing. Oozing in the bedroom is not, I’m certain, a good thing (unless that’s what floats your boat). I picked up the shell to see what might be happening with my – I was certain of this, even then – completely empty shell.

Said shell split in two.

It wasn’t one skanky, funky shell. It was two. Two of them. On top of one another.

Ahem.

I think I’m beginning to realise what the oozing was.

I, of course, immediately screamed and dropped the shell I was holding on to the floor. The reason for the screaming and the dropping were not, you’ll soon understand, because I realised that something was living and attempting to breathe inside my lovely, previously empty until this very moment in my opinion. It was because, when I picked it up, I could feel it moving. That sent horrors through my very being, in the same way that the sentence “the call is coming from inside the house” used to when I was 13 years old.

So, the screaming. And the dropping. And the then having to pick up back up off the floor and put it in the bin, and take the bag out of the bin and bring the bag out to the rubbish outside and put the bag in the rubbish. All while screaming.

Ick.

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