I was quietly sitting reading my emails yesterday morning first thing when a mosquito casually and rather slowly flew between my face and the computer screen. Occasionally when they do that it's possible to squash them in flight with a clap. I missed. The mosquito landed on the window and before I'd had time to think I picked up a piece of paper and squashed the mosquito. Oh dear. It had obviously just had a large feed of blood. Given that I was the only blood source in The Cottage I assumed that it was my blood. Now there wasn't much but I did rather resent sharing it with a mozzie. More to the point I knew that, whilst I was unlikely to feel the sacrilegious (well I think my body's sacred) act of invasion by its blood sucking proboscis, it was likely to cause me considerable irritation later on.
|The blood on the window. The scale is shown by the mozzie's leg.|
|The blood on the paper I squashed it with together with the remains of the mozzie.|
I thought that there was a certain irony in the words on the piece of paper I picked up. I had written those words some time ago in relation to FWKTM. I never told her. I'm not sure she'd appreciate the bloody end the paper came to.