Mr B is about to go into battle.
No, it's OK, we are not talking marital strife, here. Though he did say he felt I went a bit "over the top" in my blog of
August 8th, describing our Very Long Car Journey down to Wales. Like The Guardian, I will always seek to put my errors right so I am pleased to apologise. I will also admit that Mr B did not actually make any mention of potential traffic problems
awaiting us at either Portsmouth or Southampton. Though I bet he was thinking about them.....
No, it's not me who has inspired such fury in his breast. It's the unwanted guests
who have invaded our garden while we have been away. They are out there now, a veritable army yomping across the patio with the kind of unshakeable determination you only see in the likes of an Olympic athlete Going for Gold - or ants!
Personally I quite like ants. They are industrious, purposeful, hard-working and look after their own. I even think I am a bit like an ant in some respects. Mr B says, be that as it may,
if I was an ant, parading up and down outside our French doors, then I, too, would be at the mercy of "Raid".
This is the name of the "Ant & Cockroach Killer" we have just bought from Tescos.
When we asked the shop assistant where we could find it, she pointed us in the general direction of Aisle 6 and muttered vaguely: "If there's any left.... " Which obviously seems to imply that our patio invasion may be just the tip of the ice-berg. Or the
There is a very dramatic image on the front of the spray-can. It shows a black ant, struggling on its back under a mighty yellow lightning bolt. The ant on
the can is hundreds of times larger than any of the gallant foot-soldiers, marching up and down outside our back door. This is beginning to seem like an unequal struggle. I can feel a crusade coming on...
I start to marshall my arguments in support of the ants ready to present them to Mr B. They are small. They are harmless. They are not actually hurting us. They are outside, not inside. I do not hold out much hope. Mr
B is like a Battle of Britain pilot, sallying forth to deter all invaders, with no thought for his own personal safety. Armed only with a can of Raid, he will stand firm where others have fallen.
The fact that every one of the fallen is small with six legs is neither here nor there......