Shudder.
Oh my. That was an hour of my life I particularly don’t want to get back. Firstly, my past call at work was a shite one from some idiot who didn’t really have an issue. THEN I return to Mercuryvapour Towers to find that I’m sharing my room with someone. Or something.
I enter my room and look at my blinds. I notice there’s a shadow on them, as if some type of insect had landed on them. Presumably it was simply a huge moth, resting on the blinds, getting charged up from the amount of daylight shining through the window on this “fine” spring morning.
I check the blind to make sure it was a moth. “Wouldn’t it be awful if it was a wasp that size”, I chuckle to myself. I take a look at the creature….
Yellow. Black. Yellow Bl..oody hell.
I carefully move the blind back, and get my shitty little legs out of there as quickly as possible. My call for some fly spray was answered when I burst into Daddykin’s room (who was asleep, by the way), gibbering like an idiot, He let me know there was some downstairs in the kitchen cupboard.
I run downstairs, grab the can, only to find there was only a little bit left. Would there be enough? Luckily, I remembered there was some in the bathroom too. Not much again, but two sprays are better than one. Back into the room I go, relieved that Mr. W Asp was still firmly attached to the blind. I spray like I’ve never sprayed before. The window showing between the gaps in the blind turns a milky white as the insecticide spurts out of the can at a rate of knots.
The little bastard falls of its perch, lands on the windowsill with a sickening thud, and begins writhing in agony. I could hear it coughing. The spurt of milky white liquid doesn’t stop (oo-er!) and I’m determined to not leave go of the spray until this fucker stops moving, or my fly spray runs out. Eventually, it stops moving, or at least its actions make it look like it’s not going to jump off the windowsill and sting me in the ear canal.
I was finally confident enough to move towards it with the camera…
The bottle lid is there to try and give you a sense of scale..
I took a couple of photos a few minutes after I started typing this blog. I was a bit shocked to see that it had actually moved from the position I had left it in. Presumably this was rigor mortis setting in, or something. It was definitely dead by this point.
Here’s another photo of it, taken on a yellow and black floppy disk. I didn’t spot the concidence until I took the photo.
As much as I hate them, they’re really quite beautiful, and I’m sure it’d look a lot better if it wasn’t dripping with oily, smelly goo.
I have a feeling I’m going to have trouble sleeping today. After all, how did it get in here? My door will have been closed for most of the time (Senta is in heat, and, as long-term readers of the blog know, Sam likes to “practise watersports” on my bed during this period (DYSWIDT?)) and my window hasn’t been opened, meaning that this beast would have been in my room for a considerable period of time. What if there’s another one in here, watching me type? What if that one was the little one? What if “Daddy” wants revenge? Apparently, according to Wikipedia, only male wasps can sting. I think I’ve mentioned that before.
Something that ISN’T mentioned on Wikipedia, is that dead wasps make a truly sickening sound when you try to cut them in half with a 10p piece. I tried this before taking the little bastard into the bathroom and dropping it into the toilet.
It sank, by the way.
Whilst typing this post, I found this list of the Schmidt sting index. Sounds… er, intere-sting. Hohoho.














