Not only that, I got them from my son!
Now, with all the responsibility of a foster parent, I am carer and guardian of a thousand or so hungry mouths to feed. Just don't ask me to identify which end is which.
The high-rise hostel for these worms is called a "Worm Cafe" (above).
Who thinks of these names?
I have visions of a focus group (think short, fat, balding men with pony-tails and paisley shirts) sitting around, drinking lattés and wondering what to call the new worm farm design. One looks at his coffee and a small light glimmers and the "Worm Cafe" is born.
And they vote.
The focus group, not the worms.