Soon as the lights go out every night this week, we are kept awake by a high pitched whine.
Turns out, it’s not me.
It’s a bug. And we won’t get any sleep until I’ve whacked it.
Every night a new bug.
I always get them over the bed – there are so many splats that when you look up, our ceiling looks like it’s covered in those luminous glow-in-the-dark stars that teenagers stick up, but in reverse.
I tried taking a picture of a live one so you could see, but as they’ve been biting us, I’ve been more keen to destroy them before we start to look like Tom Hanks in Philadelphia.
We wondered aloud if they ever bitten someone with the Aids.
Or one of the Foot-And-Mouth cows not so far away.
Tonight, I got close enough to one to get this picture.
Kirstie heard the silence and called out from the other room.
“Whatch’ya dooin’?” She said.
“Hang on, I’m just taking a picture of a tick on the mobile for the blog…”
There was a pause.
“You know… ten years ago, none of those words would make any sense.
Though, ten years ago, we wouldn’t’ve even known each other”
Plus I don’t think its a tick.
It’s too big. Maybe its a horsefly.
NEEDLE RATING… 3.9 (increased revs, grating)