The Lady Wasp Vanishes

I am being terrorised by a queen wasp, it has been in my house for three days now. I think it must've been hibernating in our outdoor wood pile and accidentally got transported inside via a log for our wood burner.  

The first evening, I noticed it flying around in a dozy, drunken kind of way. It nearly drowned in our aquarium but the mesh to stop the fish jumping out saved it. 

I am not very frightened of insects, over the course of my lifetime and eight (? I think) homes, I have rescued many bees, wasps, daddy long legs, moths and spiders alike, transporting them back to the great outdoors by way of a glass and sturdy piece of card. 

The only things I do not save are house flies. If they make life easy and buzz around a window, I'll let them out that way. House flies carry campylobacter; food poisoning laid me so low for 9 long days a few years ago, I cannot suffer flies to live and so swat them without compunction. 

Anyway, back to the wasp, it damply flew up to the ceiling, banged itself on a beam and then dropped like a stone behind our sofa. I tried to locate it but it was nowhere to be seen. 🐝 

As long as it didn't get in our bedroom, I decided I could live with it spending the night in the lounge, I'd try to find it in the morning. 

The next day was really nice, cold but sunny, MTM doesn't work on Fridays so we wrapped up warm and had a daytrip to the seaside (Sutton on Sea). 

 

We had a lovely lunch at the Beach Bar with a glass of cider, cup of tea to wash it down and then we had a lovely walk up to and beyond Sandilands. 

The National Trust is doing a fabulous job of converting a golf course into a wetland nature reserve. 

I forgot all about the wasp. 

We went to bed after the 10 o'clock news that night, tired out by all the fresh air and fun. I was just about to turn the light off when I spotted the wasp flitting about the Velux windows on the sloping ceiling. It had clearly been awoken by the heating, it really needs to be somewhere cold. Sighing, I collected my glass and card from the lounge where I'd left them the night before. 

The dratted creature did exactly the same as the day before, flew up to the vaulted ceiling, reached the apex beam, plunged in a headlong dive behind my bedside table and then did the same disappearing act. I became annoyed and agitated, pulling out the cabinet, moving things around under the bed trying to find it. 

MTM: Just turn the light off, it will go to sleep. 

Me: I can't sleep with it in here, especially on my side. 

MTM: I'll swap sides with you. 

Me: It might crawl into our mouths, sting us, our throats will close up with swelling. We'd be dead before an ambulance ever arrived to give us a tracheotomy. 

MTM : You sleep with your mouth closed ..... remember? Because of spiders? (I read somewhere that the average person eats 8 spiders in a lifetime this way). 

Me: I can't take the risk, we'll have to sleep in the guest room. 

MTM: I'm staying here 

 

So I reluctantly headed to the guest bedroom, taking a loving, last look at my husband who would - I was certain - die in the night.

Saturday morning arrived, I was surprised to find all was well, the first thing MTM said to me was "Bzzzzzzzzz"! You can perhaps understand why his nickname is Micky Taking Monster. We had a cup of tea in bed, did a crossword together and then started to get on with our day. After showering in our ensuite bathroom, I was halfway through applying my Merwave products to my dripping wet hair (you get better waves if hair is really wet) when .... 

I reached for one of the products but *there* was the same gigantic wasp crawling around the base of one of the bottles. I swore profusely, leapt naked into the bedroom to retrieve my glass and card, dripping water and product all over the hardwood floor. I was mad as heck, once I caught it, this wasp was going to die, no more Mrs Nice Guy. 

When I got back, the wasp had disappeared ... again! It had possibly dropped down onto the floor and crawled into the laundry basket. 🧺

I had to finish my hair nervously glancing around all the time, watching where I trod in case it was on the floor. After getting dressed and putting on my makeup, I left the wasp in the ensuite bathroom with the door shut but there is probably enough room underneath for it to crawl out. 

I have shaken out every item in the laundry basket, looked under the mats but it's nowhere to be seen. Now I can only wait in nervous anticipation for its next appearance!

Part III - The Last View

BBC Radio 3 reported the other morning that a survey by Sheffield University had found one in three of us believe in the supernatural. I have had too many spooky experiences to dismiss ghosts out of hand. As promised, here is the final instalment in my series of real life Halloween stories - things that have actually happened to me. 

One summer in the early 1990s MTM and I took possession of a derelict barn we planned to turn into a home. MTM works in the construction industry, so we had the right contacts, and after eight months of dust, noise, and plaster, we moved in. The double garage we’d been granted permission to build, however, was still just an idea on paper. 

One of our nearest neighbours, Reg, was already in his nineties - a retired farmer and former cavalryman from the first world war. He’d lived most of his life in these fields. On fine afternoons, he would stroll outside and gaze across our garden to the field beyond, watching sheep graze or, occasionally, a chestnut mare cropping the grass. 

It was only later we realised that if we built the garage, we’d block his view entirely. We hesitated for years, torn between respect for Reg and the reality that our planning permission was expiring. We meant no harm, but we were practical, busy people in our thirties. When the time came, we built the garage, feeling guilty but resigned. 

Time moved on and sadly, Reg passed away. 

That winter, strange things started happening. The new fluorescent light in the garage began flickering and buzzing at random - always when no electrician was around to see it. Sometimes it flickered, occasionally it would dim to near darkness, another time, it would be overly bright, casting long, trembling shadows across the walls. We replaced bulbs, switches, fittings - nothing helped. The buzzy hum seemed to follow me out of the garage like a reproach. 

One cold evening, MTM stood staring up, frustration stiff in his shoulders. A construction professional and he couldn't get a bloody light to work properly! The light buzzed and flickered maddeningly above him, sputtering away in provocation.

Decisive action was called for. He stood in the centre of the garage, hands on his hips, addressed the flickering bulb and then muttered in an assertive tone “Now look, Reg, I know that’s you. You never wanted this garage, and I’m sorry. But it’s here now - so please, just … stop it, will you?” 

He flicked the switch off and stomped back inside. There was a heavy silence afterwards; the garage was holding its breath. 

Believe it or not but from that night on, the light NEVER played up again. Did MTM really exorcise the ghost of Reg by asking him to stop? 

We lived in the barn for twelve years altogether and we never had any more electrical problems. Wherever you are, Reg - thank you for giving us a bit of peace. 

As the nights grow longer, the temperature cools and the wind whispers through the trees, I know whenever I catch sight of a fluorescent light or hear its hum, it'll remind me of Reg, a man who watched over the calm, green Lincolnshire fields for nearly a century. 

Rest in Peace, Reg and Happy Halloween. 🎃 👻

[Name has been changed for privacy].

Clear-eyed cateract surgery

MTM had a hospital appointment to assess his eyes for cataract surgery yesterday. Apparently where you live makes a big difference to how quickly you can see again. 

In Peterborough, they’ll have your cataract sorted in two to three weeks. But if, like us, your GP happens to be over the border in Lincolnshire, you can look forward to a leisurely wait of about four months. Apparently, those living on the edge of the Fens need sharper eyesight than those of us actually in them - probably so they can spot the postcode lottery coming. 

With the additional news Rachel Reeves plans to raise taxes in the next budget - but not necessarily on the people who can most afford it, I went to bed last night feeling dispirited. Then, in a moment of nocturnal optimism, I dreamt I met Jeremy Corbyn. Last I heard, he was forming a new party. In my dream, we brainstormed the name for it. We rejected 4Front for sounding a bit too right-wing and settled on 4Most.

The idea was simple: put the ordinary people first, tax the rich and properly fund public services so no one has to wait months just to see straight again. If I stood as a candidate for 4Most, would you vote for me? I promise better vision - literally and politically. 

We could certainly do with a government that sees clearly too: one that recognises the value of public services and invests in them accordingly. Until then, we’ll keep squinting across county lines, wondering why fairness depends so much on where your GP happens to be.

Part II - The Ghosts of Suffragettes

Ready for my next spooky story? 

This one takes place in the same 19th-century cottage we rented about fifteen years ago. A few months after the “walking behind me” incident, MTM and I were sitting across from each other at the dining table, finishing dinner. 

Twilight had begun to settle, the last pale light streaking the windowpanes while we ate. The Great War by Justin Currie was playing on the CD player, looping on continuous play. 

Then everything shifted, all at once. My fork jerked violently from my hand and clattered onto the table. MTM’s gaze darted toward the other end of the table, and the CD player skipped, the disc stuttering like it had a pulse of its own. 

We froze, staring at each other. What just happened? 

“I think I just saw someone.” MTM said. Out of the corner of his eye, he’d glimpsed a young woman, swaying back and forth, laughing - but when he looked directly, the room was empty. 

The CD was fine again, the track At Home Inside of Me was still playing, filling the space, but the atmosphere had changed completely. 

“It looks like we’ve got a ghost!” MTM laughed, a bit uncertainly

“Yeah?” I grinned, joining him in trying to keep it light. “But how do we really know?” 

The words were barely out of my mouth before the overhead light flickered off and on again, twice as if answering my question. The grin fell from both our faces. Later, I checked the lyrics of the song playing during the strange events: 

Armies of children / And ghosts of Suffragettes / Make merry in the cauldron of my chest 

In that old cottage, with twilight turning to dusk, the CD skipping, the lights pulsing, and a fleeting figure within reach of my fork, I couldn't help but wonder if the spirit of a young girl was trying to tell us she'd been a suffragette ... I don't really believe in such things, do I?

My Jack O’Lantern Jar Cover pattern is now available in my Ravelry  and Etsy  shops. Perfect for adding a little eerie glow to your own autumn evenings - friendly ghosts optional. 

And if you're curious about the man behind the music, Justin Currie's The Tremolo Diaries is out now - a look at life on the road, playing music whilst living with Parkinsons. It's a treasure of a book, moving, funny, honest and utterly readable. Recommended.

Do you believe in ghosts? (Part I)

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(Hint: I’m not sure I do… but I’ve had a few moments that make me wonder!) 

Halloween is fast approaching, the evenings are drawing in, and it’s the perfect excuse to get cosy with a little seasonal crochet. My Jack o’ Lantern jar cover crochet pattern adds just the right touch of spooky glow to a mantelpiece or table — cheerful by day, a little bit eerie by candlelight. 

You can find it in my Etsy and my Ravelry shops. To celebrate the season — and the run-up to Samhain — I thought I’d share a few spooky things that have happened to me over the years. I can’t say I’m a true believer in ghosts… but I’m definitely not on Team Sceptic either. 

First up: the time someone (or something?) walked right behind me in a rented house ... 

Back in 2009, we were living in a characterful early 19th-century cottage, two cottages knocked into one. It was quite isolated — surrounded by arable farmland with just a handful of other houses dotted about. It was chocolate-box beautiful, the sort of place that was in that film The Holiday — picture-perfect, complete with climbing roses round the door and a welcoming glow from the windows. 

Every evening before bed, I’d let our little dog, Missy, out into the fenced front garden. I used to stand in the hallway, just inside the open front door, while she sniffed around and did her business. One fine, moonlit night, as I stood there gazing up at the sky, I heard MTM walk behind me from my right (the lounge) and go into the dining room to my left. 

I heard his footsteps on the laminate floor — that soft tap-tap-tap — and even felt him pass close by. He’s a jocular sort of person, so I half-expected him to make me jump, but he didn’t say a word. Odd, I thought, but maybe he was just tired — it was past 11pm, after all. 

Missy came scampering back in. I locked the front door and followed MTM into the dining room, which leads straight into the kitchen. But when I got there — he wasn’t in either room. 

He must have gone into the back garden, I thought. Despite the moon, it was really dark, there were no streetlights at all. Maybe he’d gone to the car for something. But the back door was locked — and the key was still in the lock. 

I checked the small downstairs loo (the door was slightly ajar). Empty. 

There was absolutely NO WAY he could have snuck back past me. Feeling a bit shaken, I grabbed a glass of water, retraced my steps through the dining room, down the hallway, and into the lounge. I went up the stairs — and there he was, already in his PJs, getting into bed! 

When I asked if he’d just walked behind me, he looked genuinely puzzled. He swore all he did was turn off the TV, unplugged it, and gone straight up to get ready for bed while I was with Missy. 

So… who (or what) did I hear walking right behind me? Even now, the hairs on the back of my neck stand up when I think about it. What do you think — just an overactive imagination, or did I really have a supernatural visitor that night? 

I’ll be sharing a couple more spooky little moments over the next few days as we head toward Halloween, so stay tuned if you enjoy a good shiver down the spine! And if you’d like to add a bit of ghost-free glow to your own home, my Jack o’ Lantern jar cover pattern is waiting in my Etsy and Ravelry shops — perfect for flickering tealights, fairy lights, or a touch of cosy autumn charm.