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‘Well, that’s a pickle,’ muttered the red-headed writer (aka la Raconteuse) as she peer down to the stairwell from the roof, it appeared that all those light bulbs had blown, or maybe just that particular fuse had gone, which was more likely, as she continued to peer down.

Surely someone would flick that fuse up again, as la Raconteuse pulled out her smartphone, she felt either Tom or the Bartender would not pay scant attention to sort that out and soon.

Meanwhile, la Raconteuse grinned since she’d been reading using the app for Kindle on her phone, it was an excellent quirky novel, with a genre known as steampunk, she might continue to read, but it was getting rather cold by the flat roof and the moon was up now.

So she clicked her torch on the phone, then began to walk down the narrow stairs; she was hoping that she wouldn’t fall again since she had scarred one of her knees rather badly, although at least that scab had almost gone now.

She suddenly stopped by the nearest landing as her smartphone started to ping; ‘what’s this, I wonder,’ as she talked to herself out loud, ‘it’s a ping and another ping, surely this must be a scam,’ as she tried to work out what it said.

She stared around the darkness, then looked at her phone again, it said: how can it tell me to open a door, when I didn’t know there was a door here before?

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‘That’s a puzzle,’ said the red-headed writer (aka la Raconteuse) as she continued to stare at that large book about gardening, ‘it says we need several different types of veggies but we need to be careful since some of them wouldn’t be happy together.’

‘Good grief, I didn’t know all of those things,’ as la Raconteuse continued to talk out loud, ‘toms don’t like spuds, fancy that; this great book is a mine of knowledge, isn’t it… so glad it came in that big cardboard box with all those other things.’

‘But, sorry I’m hogging this book, although you, Tom, you are reading the other new one, the one about gourmet food, and that looks also interesting,’ as la Raconteuse peered at the other one for a bit.

‘Gosh, that one looks even better, miles better in fact, and all those beautiful photos… ooh, lovely salads on this chapter, with different edible flowers; look, there are nasturtiums, pansies, pot marigolds and borage; hmm, the only one I would know is that last one – borage flowers – good for gin and tonic,’ as she giggled.

‘Listen,’ said Tom, ‘shall we go up to the flat roof to see how things are doing; I’ve already put out those bags of top soil and compost,’ – ‘oh yes, sounds good.’

So, la Raconteuse headed out to those new raised beds, and good there were, but the first thing she said was this: ‘it’s hardly a mortal enemy, it’s just a slug, but it’s huge… ugh.’

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