My neighbours have a wasps nest in their roof. It’s been there for two or three years now. They [the neighbours] don’t seem to mind, and that’s their business.

But every now and then, the wasps get it into their little brains to have a mass suicide. Maybe it’s a cult thing. I dunno. The problem is that they choose my bathroom for their final demise. I get up in the middle of the night to do those things that people have to do in the middle of the night and find myself standing, half asleep surrounded by hundreds of dead and dying wasps. This is not very pleasent, standing there in bare feet [and not much else covered either] surrounded by these little buggers all swarming around and crawling around the floor, walls and ceiling.

Of course these leads to a problem. I have gone to the bathroom for a purpose – a purpose that that only the bathroom can satisfy. Do I dare crunch across the carpet of crawling stingers in my bare feet? Or do I cross my legs and sweat? Not a decision that is easy especially since I am still half asleep.

But I am exaggerating, I hear you say. The first time it happened, I emptied a can of insect spray into the bathroom and then slammed the door. Half an hour later, I went in and filled four dustpans with bodies. Yes – four dustpans. Hundreds of ’em. Talk about a mass funeral.

My problem though is why my bathroom? Why not choose a room in my neighbours house? It’s their nest after all. And how do they get in? The window is closed, and I have sealed up every other possible point of entry.

There was another suicide ceremony this morning. It started with a scream from Herself. I went in to see why she was screaming [as one does] and there they were again. Not too many. Maybe a dozen or so. I wish they would go and die somewhere else…..