Friday, 21 August 2015
A hostage situation
So why am I hostage you might ask. Should we call the police? Fear not dear hearts, its just the time of year when some kind of tiny bug, a mere fleck, the size of 1-2mm seems to think I'm the village buffet. To say I look like a chicken-poxed child would be exaggeration. Every time I step out of the door, the buffet begins and I'm left with welts and weeping wounds.
You'd think therefore, I'd remember this. It happens every year around August and lasts for a little over 4-6 weeks. However, here I am utterly incensed again at my bad fortune. Dabbing chamomile lotion and anti-histamine potions as much as I can. I probably also need scratching mitts. Its not a pretty sight.
The nearest I get to actual real gardening right now is running up the path, throwing food at the chickens, trying to pick veg with gauntlets on and running back indoors. Its a savage existence.
So I try my best not to scratch to death until it passes. The sheep assure me that all will be well, they'll take care of things.
I suspect they might get a bit fatter. Just like those pesky bugs.
I have a theory that you decrease in tolerance to these things if subjected to them too much. I'm the same with nettle stings, I come out in giant apocalyptic welts. If I work with peat based composts my hands now erupt into crazy almost burnt digits. Over exposure seems to be the key for these with me. I'm over sensitised.
Or I'm just a light weight.
Until they go, yours with her nose against the garden window.......watching where those sheep will end up next.