The Neptunian Superwasp Jamboree


Here’s the story of the old days, summer, and my underwear.

WASP! WASP! WASP! ARRRRGH! Oh my God, I’m gonna die! Someone help me! Oh, hang on – no, that’s, that’s – not, a – wasp. Ah, breathe, relax. Well, it sure looks like one and sounds like one. But it has no yellow stripes. Hmm, better ask dad. “Dad, is that a wasp?” “Yup.” But it’s got no – no, stripes – OH MY GOD, IT’S A SUPERWASP! WE’RE ALL GONNA DIE! Where’s the bug spray? ARRRRGH! It doesn’t work on this new breed of superwasp! And now it’s angry! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!

Turns out, readers, black wasps are quite common in North America but only there. How one found itself to the humble shores of England escapes me, but I don’t care about that. Because I did not know there was a type of wasp that was all black. It was two bloody inches long! About an inch wide! Just bursting through my open window like that alien through the chest of some poor sod. ‘BZZZZ! BZZZZ! BZZZZ!’ “ARRRRGH! OH MY JESUS, WHAT THE HELL IS THAT!” I screamed.

I’m not ashamed of the fact that at nearly 25, father still kills insects and arachnids for me. Even mum does occasionally. I cannot begin to put into words how unbelievably paralysed I am when I see one. It just fills me with dread and fear, my heart beating almost out of my chest. My face so drained of blood it starts to tingle. Spiders I can deal with because I just Hoover them up and let the vacuum cleaner worry about it. But it’s very hard to Hoover a wasp. Because they can fly. Better off shooting it, to be frank.

People say they only attack if they’re angry, but think about that for a moment. It’s just flown into your room and it can’t get out. To it, you’ve caged it. Now it’s pissed. It’s now a mini-Hulk and that’s not a pleasant thing. Dad ended up killing the wasp. I don’t like killing bugs. But that little bugger deserved it. For scaring the bejesus out of me…

The worst part was its stinger. It was the size of Mars! I researched these wasps and they’re not supposed to have stingers that big. Which either means it’s a visitor from another world or it’s been getting funky with other species of wasp. Well, when in Rome, I guess.

Still frazzled by the whole incident, I decided to have a lie down. Primarily because I was struggling to breathe. What I didn’t need at that precise moment was a spider suddenly appearing out of nowhere and start crawling up my leg. I frantically grabbed my slipper and started whacking the hell out of it, which really hurt, by the way. It didn’t die! They’re resilient little things. It landed on the floor and started running around in circles. I then grabbed the nearest thing to me and started hitting it with that. The nearest thing to me was some worn underwear on my bedroom floor. Nobody wants to die like that, do they? Suffocating on my underwear…

It wouldn’t die. So over the next hour we engaged in a fierce battle, which ended with me the victor. I know I should’ve trapped it in a cup but I didn’t have one. I could’ve left the room to get one but if the spider had gone by the time I got back, I would literally never be able to go in that room ever again. I was acting purely on instinct, readers. You corner and frighten me, you are going to get whacked with a slipper. Which is useful for spiders. Less useful for habitual criminals.

This happens every year. The first insect attack of the summer. But it doesn’t feel like summer. But then again, 14 degrees is about 20 degrees hotter than it’s been over the last five months. But it’s not black and white. You don’t have winter one moment and summer the next. It transitions gradually. And I don’t like that period. I don’t know the protocol. In the winter, I wear a big coat and in the summer, I wear a thin and light one. But during the transitional period betwixt the two, what appears to be a cold looking day from out the window doesn’t always mean it’s cold, and a sunny looking day doesn’t always mean it’s warm. I made a decision on Friday morning. Winter coat. Needless to say, after about ten minutes, my face was the colour of a plum…

I don’t react well to heat. Your body uses more energy and I have low blood sugar, which means I’m far more vulnerable to blood sugar crashes. I’m also more prone to migraines and hay fever. I’m also incredibly unhealthy. Walking 100 yards in summer makes me feel like someone who’s just ran a marathon. Barefooted over burning coals.

Then there are the neighbour’s kids. Oh, those little blighters. The girls scream and the boys shout. They have water pistol fights in the street and if I get covered, I get go apology. Oh, no. I’m expected to accept it. And their parents aren’t much better. They camp out on their drives and gardens, drink booze and blast music from their car radios as loud as humanly possible. Like a friggin’ hillbilly jamboree! From eight in the morning until after midnight. Yet when you complain, they call you miserable. Well, I’m sorry, but I’m not. Now shut up for two minutes so I can have some bleedin’ peace and quiet!

I’m confident they’re breaking noise laws and I know for a fact you need a permit to party outside. They probably never bother getting one because they know we would never agree to it. And the police won’t do anything about it. Probably busy with all the murders and gubbins. What happened to the old days? I’m sure they were much quieter. You had defined communities. Separate neighbourhoods for elderly, family, young people, and many more. Not nowadays. Oh, no. They all intermix. Meaning you can’t get away from these bloody lunatics…

So here I am. Miserable. In my room. Low sugar count. Head thumping. Very tired all the time. Heat very high. And windows shut to keep out the incessant noise and nasty superwasps from Neptune. With three more months of all this hell to come. When the sun will disappear until next year and countless days of glorious rain will envelope the land. Leaving kids and their parents with no choice but to stay indoors. Ah, lovely.

Yes, I think it’s time to retire the winter coat and bring out the summer coat. Ah, I’ve missed it. All lonely and neglected. Your time has come to keep me cool until the glory days of rain return.

What a wonderful world…

French Nobel Prize winning author, journalist and philosopher, Albert Camus (1913-1960), once said, “In the depth of winter I finally learned that there was in me an invincible summer.”

Peace Out :|:

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Please feel free check out the latest posts from my other two blogs:

To Contrive & Jive
New Posts Every Monday, Wednesday and Friday
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Hark Around the Words
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