Bugged

My Dear Princess and Dear Fellows,

I am covered in bug-bites at the moment. The weather has driven them INSANE with a desire to drink human blood and they have decided mine is DELICIOUS. Er Indoors, meanwhile, is untouched.

I'm happy for her. Really. Not bitter at all. She is just fortunate that her blood is apparently vile and repellent to mosquitoes, while sleeping next to someone who can only be described as a "Bug Buffet".

I wonder if I'm painting a vivid enough picture here? It is not that I am covered in welts. It is more like I am this GIANT welt, with an itchy human person peering out from inside. Do you remember Jeff Goldblum in "The Fly"? I am liked that, only dipped in calamine lotion and without the ability to climb walls and have Eric Stoltz as my son in the crappy sequel.

My sleep was seriously disturbed last night by this - 

<itch>

I would THROW off the covers. Apply some ointment and then grumpily try to go back to sleep -

<itch>

More ointment

<itch>

And more ointment

<itch>

Ointment ointment ointment 

<itch itch itch>

AAAAAAAAARGHHHH!!!

It is particularly bad on my left foot. Which is not easy to reach when I'm half-asleep. So today I am quite grumpy. I went to the chemist and asked for ANYTHING that would quieten the

<itch>

I told the lady that everything was on the table, up to and including morphine and/or Cary Elwes armed with a hacksaw*. But instead she gave me hydrocortisone and a can of bug repellent. We'll see.

Today's picture is of a piece of dynamic artwork called "Protoplasm". It is one of many wind-sculptures in the city. When it is windy, it is a lot of fun to watch. All of the circles move independently so it twists and swirls around itself.  However, there was no wind today and it just sort of sat there, baking, like the rest of us.

If I sound like a typical whingeing Pom, then I'd add in my defence that the locals complain way more than I do. Wellingtonians have apparently never seen the like of this summer. Last week it was so hot that a lot of them stayed home and worked from there. The rest of them flopped around the office, gasping and complaining like landed trout. 

Can you imagine that? It would be like if Scotland's trains ground to a halt just because there was a bit of sn-

Oh, okay, maybe you CAN imagine that. 

Right. I'm off to try these ointments. I have so many bites I can try a different one on each and then gauge the results.

<itch>

Oh FOR EFF'S SAKE!

S.

* This is a reference to the yucky horror film "Saw" in which he cuts off his own foot. I was going to post a link to explain but they are all gruesome and yuck and you might be having your tea.