Then what happens?
As I grabbed a blanket, it felt like a shard of glass had impailed my little finger. Leaping round the bedroom shaking my hand so violently it was in danger of falling off, I spotted the culprit. A very large, dozy wasp clambering along the edge of the bedcover.
I used the cunning glass and beer mat trick (suprisingly both readily available in son's bedroom) and left the wasp prisoner on the windowsill while I contemplated his fate. The evil alter ego you have heard about before thought about the pleasures of revenge with the squashing option. I sensibly ignored this thought and flung the hapless creature to its freedom out of the bedroom window.
My little finger has now swollen and it is making it quite hard to type. But at least I have a clear conscience.
Revenge - not pretty, especially when you end up with squelchy gunge on the pillow.
Wasps, enhancing our experience of the Cosmos?
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