Wasps Attack

Posted by Tania Kindersley.

So, last night, I climbed up the stairs to bed. Nothing remarkable about that, you might think. It was clean sheet day, so I was looking forward to a lovely, comfortable sleep.

Walked into the room. Turned on the light.

WASPS EVERYWHERE.

I’m not joking. And they weren’t sweet, sleepy autumn wasps. They were furious crack regiment wasps, and they were flying at my head.

I’m ashamed to say I shrieked like a girl.

First of all, I tried to kill them with deodorant. I know that the Buddhists believe that all creatures are sacred and should not be randomly murdered, but I had no time for milk of human kindness. You may also be wondering about the deodorant thing. Well, I just reached for anything that sprayed. I got a spare out of the cupboard, so I went in double-handed. I think at one stage I may actually have shouted DIE DIE, but I might be imagining that part.

It wasn’t that effective. The wasps just got more furious. I swear reinforcements were coming in the open window. I was seriously outnumbered.

Then I remembered that I had some Raid somewhere. There followed a frantic Hunt for Raid. This took some time. The buzzing got louder and louder.

I found the Raid. Now the fuckers would rue the day. Ha. I got about half of them, almost asphyxiating myself in the process. The Pigeon stayed in close order for excellent moral support. Then the Raid ran out. Phhtt, phtt the can went, and that was that. The remaining wasps mustered, ready to avenge their slaughtered comrades. Back to the deodorant.

I could not get them all, and I’m afraid I ceded the field. I would have been pathetic in the war. (I always think of those SOE women and how courageous they were under fire. I am defeated by wasps.)

I slammed the bedroom door, to keep the buggers in, and went to sleep on the sofa. My sofa is very long and comfortable and covered in lovely blankets; it’s not sleeping in a tent outside St Paul’s Cathedral; but even so. I feared I might have strange wasp nightmares, but in the end I dreamed of having a new sofa delivered. The Prime Minister himself delivered it, carrying it up three flights of stairs and giving me a big kiss afterwards. That’s Her Majesty’s Government: service with a smile. What can this mean? I suspect even Jung would be stumped.

This morning, I had to be brave and go and inspect the battlefield. The room was quiet. (Too quiet.) There were dead wasps everywhere, curled up into sad little apostrophes. I felt faintly remorseful.

I cleared them all away and wondered what would happen tonight. Will their cohort arrive, to punish me for doing away with their fallen fighters? Where does a wasp swarm even come from, at midnight on a Friday? Will I ever sleep quietly in my bed again?

 

Pictures of the day are of the trees. It was a dull old day, but even so, the colours really are going crazy guns:

The Pigeon wandered off, and I went to look for her and found her skulking about in the yard, looking very guilty. I think she has found some secret stash of something down there, although I don't know what it is. I decided the old tractor looked very charming, so I made her pose in front of it, which she thought was excessively silly. Look at her face:

Then we went and threw the stick, so that cheered her up:

Today's hill:

I gather from the comments that there are some new readers this week. There is almost nothing that delights me more than new readers, so: Welcome. And thank you for coming.