A woodworm in the gusset is worth two in the bush

My name is Anna and I have woodworm. It’s a bit like having nits but instead of having crawly things mooching around your barnet, you’ve got beetles running rampage in your turtlenecks and ‘pooing’ sawdust all over your slinkies; and when they’re not pooing or burrowing, they’re making love on your curtain rail. I tried to deal with them manually, ie sucked the suckers up the hoover but they are prolific love makers and their seemingly inexhaustible shageroos are producing herds of incy wincy brown beetle babies. Anyway, I went down to Homebase to get some essence of death but unfortunately, it was rent a dimwit for the day and I got a pasty boy with over-zealous grease glands who had never heard of woodworm but tried to sell me slug pellets. To cut a long story short, I have now treated my woodworm by throwing the bloody chest of drawers out. What’s funny is that it’s disappeared from my back alley where I left it so I can only assume that my little friends are now copulating with gusto, their compound eyes firmly fixed on someone else’s Billy bookcase. Meanwhile, I’m still getting the sawdust out of my gussets. Talking of pests, my garden snails have been getting me into trouble. The thing is, on examining my lettuce the other day, I found a big fat mollusc having a good old chomp, and, as you do, I ripped it off its leafy lunch box and threw it over the fence into the car park next door. However, unluckily for me, my neighbour was just about to get into her car and the flying snail hit her on the head; she wasn’t best pleased; the snail wasn’t too happy either.