I look back on 2013 very fondly. Our Maria got married. We went to Abersoch and it was glorious. I didn’t cry on my birthday for once. But, best of all, I only saw about two flying ants all summer.
NOT SO THIS YEAR.
I thought that we’d escaped the worst for a second year running. On Saturday, I saw two. Jenny killed them with her windscreen wiper and I believed we were safe. Oh, how naïve I am.
My first alert came courtesy of Louise, who informed me that “millions of the bastards” had hit Aintree. I whimpered at my desk, but told myself that Aintree is miles away from the dark side so I would be alright. Alas, my optimism was short-lived. Allan spoke of a “flying ant apocalypse in the L5 and surrounding area.” Lauren encountered a thousand of them on Renshaw Street and cheerily stated that she “thinks it’ll be worse tomozza.” (Thanks babe.)
At this point I was seriously considering sleeping under my desk at work to avoid the issue, but then the dread of turning into a wool if I stayed the night in Birkenshed overcame my fear of the dreaded winged beasts. I wish, with all my heart, that I had stayed put.
One hit me on the forehead on the way to the train station. Another nearly fell into my bag (I’ll have to throw said bag away.) I then had to endure standing in a swarm of them on Victoria Street while I waited for the bus, which (again naïvely) I thought would be a safe haven, but was in fact worse than being outside, as there was NO ESCAPE.
I spent the entire journey watching them crawl all over the windows, trying not to make eye contact with them in case they attacked, slapping my arms whenever one flew near, scratching my head incessantly and quietly moaning with fright. (To the credit of all my fellow passengers, no one batted an eyelid; they probably thought I was just the obligatory 15 bus crank.) We drove past beer gardens packed full of sun-seeking revellers. I was agog. Are these lunatics unaware of the plague currently upon us?
Thankfully, I’m now safely ensconced in the flying ant-free Crilly abode. Naturally all doors and windows will remain shut until I say otherwise. I am ignoring the fact that by doing this we may run the risk of slowly roasting to death due to the furnace-esque temperature in the house.
I’m off for a shower because I can still feel them crawling on me. It will have to be a sit-down shower, as I am WEAK FROM TERROR.
Let me know when it rains and they’re all dead.