A mozzie looms: in the last second of its approach the whine spikes to a crescendo and by reflex your hand shoots out to flail the air. Doubly pointless - the mozzie is unfazed; moreover it treats the act itself as prey-confirmation. In any case a mozzie never eats your head off, ankles are a favourite and you'll never hear or feel it feeding down there.
It's so hot that it's impossible to keep the windows shut; impossible to keep the duvet on. The hours go by, whines recur at intervals, the duvet flaps on and off like a slow-flying bird. At 2 am I abandon the room to Clare, who is oblivious. Judging by the increased fly-by frequency, we seem to have acquired a flock (right collective noun? A swarm?) of the wretched creatures.
I retire to the back bedroom, close the window and door, lie on the bed with the duvet thrown off, listen sleepily to the boiler hum, listen again ... the light goes on and I see a tandem flight at the top of the wall. One is swatted in short order, the second eludes all contact, drifting in and out of view like erratic, wilful dust. Eventually I fall asleep: this morning I am bitten - around the ankle.
On our way back from the bird sanctuary at Ham Loop near Glastonbury today, we bought some RAID at Tescos. Tonight will be different, little guys.
The Tor from Ham Loop
A quick update on artisan work
1. My newly-constructed back step is complete and dry; Clare is currently painting the path around it with a spectacularly red masonry paint.
2. My attempts to stop the sporadic leakage of water from one of the toilet cisterns has been a partial success. I removed the plug/washer assembly from the bottom of the cistern (why is a hole there at all? What possible use is it?), cleaned and smoothed the entire area inside and out, checked the washers - no sign of wear, and replaced all screwing it up tight. Result? It still leaks briefly after the flush has been pulled. Why? No idea.
We'll live with it.
