Time for the wasps to buzz off

Wasps: wearing the same stripy jumpers as bees doesn’t fool anyone - they’re the soccer hooligans of the insect world.

It definitely feels decidedly autumnal this week, which means two scary and unpleasant things are pretty much over; me wearing shorts, and the preponderance of angry, irritable, wasps who want one last fight before winter arrives.

If there’s a defined scale of despicability, our waspish chums are right near the top, battling it out for the “pointless but ruddy annoying” award with the daddy-long-legs.

These surly, benefit-free, bee impersonators have seemingly no redeeming qualities. This is largely because flying at your face isn’t something that generally starts you off well in the likability stakes. Having the ability to sting and repeating the face-flying thing guarantees it, and also encourages violent retribution.

Sitting next to the open window in my office has allowed me to observe their modus operandi first hand, over an extended period of time. I can safely say that your average Cumbrian wasp’s day goes like this:

Get up – in a bad mood.
Spot balding newspaper columnist pretending to work.
Fly in through open window aiming for ear (hair will do if you miss).
Avoid flailing limbs and high-pitched screaming, loop round and aim for face.
Repeat several times.
Laugh whilst he picks up an important document and attempts to hit you with it, but knocks over his cappuccino instead.
Repeatedly headbutt closed window, right next to the open one.
Time permitting, try and pick a fight with a neon tube.
Mysteriously vanish, leaving an air of nervous tension in the room.
Hand baton on to a friend.

On a bad day, their sheer numbers have resulted in three grown men in a confined space slashing at the air with rulers, like some kind of impromptu flashmob in the stationery section of WHSmith.

Still, if that induces nightmares, it’s nothing compared to what was discovered in the loft of a home in Corby recently, according to the Northampton Chronicle.

The property was being renovated, and whilst empty a nest had been built. A big nest. A 1 metre wide nest, with it’s own bespoke entrance tunnel built down to the eaves. Try not to imagine a large barrel containing wasps. Too late.

Apparently, the average nest holds about 3,000 grumpy, buzzing, stinging-machines. This one possibly had up to 10,000 in it. Going on the sheer size, I’m imagining it also had lifts and valet parking.

Happily for all involved it had been vacated. In my foolish youth I once put on 3 layers of clothes, a balaclava and swimming goggles and clobbered a small nest with a tennis racquet. I’d have needed every player at Wimbledon to have stood a chance against this monster.

Makes you wonder, though. Where did the 10,000 wasps go? And what’s making that loud buzzing noise outside my window?

I’ll just open it and see...

This post first appeared as my 'Thank grumpy it's Friday' column, in the North West Evening Mail, on the 30th of September 2016, where it was re-titled "Stung into a wasp diatribe". I know this because *fanfare* I'm receiving copies of the paper again. Hurrah!

According to @BrockwayVoila, I missed as episode of The One Show this week that seemingly showed wasps in a more positive light. Really? Doubt it would have swayed me - Stripey gits.

(CD A-Z: Jethro Tull, "Through The Years". A budget compilation with a different version of "Living In The Past". Ah...)

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