Oh man…

I decided to go down to the local street party tonight. It seemed like a good idea at the time — I’d get to catch up with my neighbours, have a few laughs, maybe have a drink or two as well.

But then the bugs came.

Flying ants — hundreds, if not thousands of them — in my hair, in my shirt, in my mouth, in my underwear… When I got home, I immediately stripped-off, and while some were still crawling on me, others were mere body parts: a wing here, a leg there, all lying on me like the scatterings of a flying ant battlefield.

I cannot overemphasise just how thick the air was with bugs. They were, quite literally, everywhere, and they seemed to work their way into every place on your body that you didn’t want them to be.

In terms of horrible bug-related experiences in my life, this has to rank with the best of them.

(In unrelated news, this morning I went to have my initial interview at the disability employment service that I’d previously been referred to by the last agency. It all went fairly well, but I should know more in the new year. Of note was that the interview took place in a large, empty, cavernous room whose acoustics seemed designed to maximise the amount of echoey reverberation so that audibility was at a bare minimum.)