Lines of beauty save slug artist’s life

Kentish Express Ashford & District - - Kentish Express Time Capsule -

As­lug es­caped death thanks to its artis­tic tal­ent. Dubbed ‘Slugsy’ (by us), the cre­ative crea­ture left the gi­ant pic­ture of a dog on a con­ser­va­tory door last Thurs­day.

Ann Ge­orge, from Ken­ning­ton, said she was just about to pour salt on the un­sus­pect­ing crea­ture when she re­alised it had left a slugsy glass-ter­piece.

The trail along the con­den­sa­tion of Mrs Ge­orge’s con­ser­va­tory door looks re­mark­ably like a large dog, or maybe a bear.

Mrs Ge­orge, a mul­ti­me­dia con­sul­tant, said: “I spot­ted it on the con­ser­va­tory win­dow in the morn­ing and thought it was a bit dif­fer­ent.

“The artis­tic slug nearly had salt poured on it but af­ter I re­alised what it had cre­ated I thought I’d leave it alone!”

What do you think of Slugsy’s work? Write to Ken­tish Ex­press, 34-36 North Street, Ash­ford, TN24 8JR or email ken­tish­ex­press@ thek­m­

And talk­ing of cre­at­ing art­work, our story last week about a Spit­fire mak­ing an emer­gency land­ing in a field near Wood­church prompted reg­u­lar Nuts and Bolts con­trib­u­tor Ted Prangnell to con­tact us.

He sent us this sketch that he cre­ated of a scene he wit­nessed dur­ing the Sec­ond World War, he thinks ei­ther in 1941 or 1942.

At the time, Ted was aged about seven or eight and liv­ing in Kem­s­ing, near Sevenoaks.

Ted said: “The Spit­fire made a forced land­ing in a field near my home. Although the wings came off, the pi­lot es­caped un­hurt.

“As we had no ac­cess to film or cam­era I made the at­tached sketch to record the in­ci­dent in­stead.

“We saw other air­craft crash, not al­ways as safely as that one, or Rob Davies’ land­ing in Wood­church.

“I re­mem­ber the Spit­fire be­ing taken away on a ‘QueenMary’ trailer. How it got along the Pil­grim’s Way I can’t imag­ine.

“The Spit­fire crashed at a spot which is just about where the M26 is now, north of Sevenoaks.

“I had seen that smoke was com­ing from the en­gine and that it was in trou­ble.”

On another oc­ca­sion, Ted wit­nessed a day­light raid by a soli­tary Ger­man Dornier bomber.

He said: “I saw it fly fairly low over­head and its bomb doors open, and then the bomb was re­leased.

“The bomb landed in Ot­ford, badly dam­ag­ing a row of houses. Life was quite ex­cit­ing at times!

“It was a bit of a cheek, re­ally, fly­ing over here on its own, with no es­cort, in broad day­light. But at that stage of the Sec­ond World War they prob­a­bly thought that they had com­plete air supremacy.

“We were not sure what they could have been aim­ing for, but as well as the houses it nearly de­mol­ished a pub in the cen­tre of the vil­lage.”

Life used to be so un­com­pli­cated in the good old days. All you had to re­mem­ber was the num­ber of your house and the road it was in (in case you had an ac­ci­dent and the emer­gency ser­vices asked where you lived), your home phone num­ber, and maybe your bank ac­count num­ber and sort code (and in those days only very rich or ec­cen­tric peo­ple had more than one bank ac­count).

Fast for­ward and life is all about pass­words, user names, se­cu­rity ques­tions (eg, mother’s maiden name, your first pet’s name, your favourite singer, etc, etc).

And that’s with­out all the spam mail that plagues all our lives… Isn’t it amaz­ing how many Rus­sian girls are look­ing for some ex­tracur­ric­u­lar ac­tiv­ity in Ash­ford these days or how many ‘friends’ have just been mugged in Barcelona and des­per­ately need cash sent out to pay for a flight home.

We don’t know about you but these days com­put­ers dom­i­nate our lives so much that remembering all the dif­fer­ent pass­words re­quired to ac­cess bank and sav­ings ac­counts, Twit­ter, Face­book and so on has be­come as dif­fi­cult as learn­ing a Shake­speare so­lil­o­quy.

And then if you ever try and make them all uni­form (remembering of course not to in­clude any date or birth or name ref­er­ences) one of your ac­count/work log-ins will give that dreaded warn­ing mes­sage: “Your cur­rent pass­word will ex­pire in seven days.”

So that means they are now out of sync and you need to spend hours try­ing to think if you changed the pass­word to WHATEVER1234 or WHATEVER1235 when you next try to log on or log in.

Oh how we yearn for the days when new tech­nol­ogy was one of those ta­ble-ten­nis games you used to play on your TV screen.

Pause for thought: This trail stopped reader Ann Ge­orge from killing the slug, right, while Nuts and Bolts strug­gle to keep abreast with their PC pass­words

The Spit­fire that crashed in Wood­church, above, and Ted Prangnell’s boy­hood draw­ing of a fighter plane brought down near Sevenoaks dur­ing the Bat­tle of Bri­tain

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