I have been riding this snail round this garden since long before 'er come 'ere, 'er who writes them books. 'Er was pottering about yesterday, talking to the flowers like she thinks she'll get an answer. When 'er first come, I thought we'd see some changes, and I reckoned the first one would be me. I reckoned 'er wasn't the gnome type. If I'd been painted red and blue I'd have been out before you could say 'fishing rod', but I'm a plain stone gnome. I aint conspicuish, not with all them plants all over the place. I'm camelflaged down there on me rockery, riding me snail.
I'm not saying I would have minded if 'er 'ad chucked me out. In fact, in a way, I was looking forward to it. I been 'ere donkey's years on this rockery, and I don't get places much. Did you ever see a thin gnome? I got a gnome dome belly to be proud of and little short legs, so it takes me all me time to climb up the rockery and frighten the cat. The snail, he don't go so fast. In fact, 'e don't go at all, not so much as you'd notice. 'E got one and a half inches last year, then 'e dozed off in May and he aint woke up yet. So if 'er give me away to 'er mates up north or down south, I wouldn't 'ave minded. But, no, not 'er. She says, 'e's been ere longer than we 'ave, she says, 'e should stay. Then 'er picked me up and put me where I weren't before, so I get a different view. Same bloomin rocks, different flowers. She's put in a lavatree-eria and a heeby-jeeby and a little white thing that I can't remember what it's called and I don't suppose 'er can, either.
You'd think a bit of common politeness wouldn't be too much to ask. Morning, gnome, how you doing, as she goes by. I could tell 'er a few things. 'Er writes stories. I could tell her a few. Like I said, I been 'ere a long time. Met a few slugs. Chased a few cats. Watched fireworks and had a chat with the reindeer come Christmas. Night night, all.
Night night, gnome.