The Dreaded Pesky Mosquito – The Curse of the Polish Summer Part 2
Welcome back my Polish friends and colleagues to part two of my rant and curse about the scourge of the Polish summer. When I spoke with you last time I was frantically ripping the flesh from my body as I swore, cursed and spat feathers at the discovery that my body or exposed parts of it had been dined and wined on while gently deep in slumber and dreaming of the wonderful benefits of my new adopted home. So as I said in my last mumblings it is a new concept for me to share my bedroom with small flying, blood-sucking insects which obviously love the taste of vintage English blood. So what has this new wonderful experience done to me?
Well, apart from the fact that my body has 60% fewer skin cells from constantly scratching them from my infected limbs and parts of my flesh resemble a red blotchy pin cushion I can honestly say I have become paranoid about the little pesky blighters. It has driven me to almost total insanity and has whipped my blood – what little I have left of it – to boiling point. So much in fact that I have openly declared war on them. As they say, revenge is sweet. And my revenge comes in the shape of a fly swatter. Because I have had enough of being eaten alive while I sleep I have declared the bedroom an open battle ground. So, each night now before I lay my head to rest, out comes the fly swatter and the battle commences. With fly swatter in hand, I stalk and prowl the room, eyes transfixed on the white walls and ceiling all the time scanning for small dark dots on the pristine white walls. To say this has become an obsession is an understatement. This is all out war. The war against the blood sucking little bastards that have left my body covered in red itchy blotches. A war and battle that will mean my room is free of the pesky little blighters so that I can sleep in peace knowing that I am not sharing my bedroom with insects that are waiting to pounce on me the moment I enter the land of nod.
So, as my eyes scan the walls and ceiling for the telltale sign of a resting mosquito, my concentration heightens and my hunting instinct kicks in. This is man against beast. (Well.... man against tiny insect) and then suddenly, there he is, the tiny black dot silhouetted against the white wall. My focus intensifies and I slowly move toward the savage beast clambering and climbing delicately over the furniture to manoeuvre myself into place to make my deadly strike. I focus intensely and my hand quivers as I grasp my deadly weapon – the fly swatter. I'm poised like a coiled spring ready to strike. My brain sends the message to my hand. Strike now, strike hard, strike fast. And with the speed of light my hand moves forward and the fly swatter cuts through the air and slap, it contacts the wall. It's all over in a flash and my senses return back to focus only to see the little bastard flying around in front of me again. I missed the bugger. How could I have missed? As streams of obscenities flow from my mouth as I curse the little tricky bastard, I notice him land again six feet further along the wall. I delicately climb onto the desk to reposition myself for a second attack and manoeuvre myself into place. I'm coiled and ready to strike again and this time, as I vow to myself not to miss I bring the fly swatter down for the second time...... splat! As it slaps the wall and as my glancing blow moves from the impact site with great delight and glee, I notice the splattered remains of the pesky blighter, blood and all (my blood) smeared all over the wall. Yes, yes, yes I got the little bastard. I can not tell you how great this makes me feel.
Elated to know that I have single-handedly got my revenge at least for one small red itchy blotch on my body and that this particular mozzie will not be feasting on my flesh tonight. Well, after five or ten minutes of intense battle and bloody carnage (human 10, mozzie 0), I declare the bedroom mozzie free but decide that I had better clear up the blood stained blotches on the pristine white wall before I get into trouble. She is very proud of her white walls so with the sponge in hand I clean up the carnage. So, safe in the knowledge that my sleeping environment is free from blood sucking invaders I turn off the light and rest my head on the pillow with a smug smile on my face. That will teach the little bastards. These Polish mozzies are no match for a battle determined Englishman. And just as I start to drift off into the land of nod, I hear it. That faint low pitched drone....... Buzzzzz........Nooooooo!
Tony
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