I’ve needed something to spark me into writing for my personal blog again. This morning, I got the inspiration to write. This is a real-life horror story. It’s Stephen King-esque, minus 594 pages. (I always think Stevie’s books are a tad too long anyway!)
I got up around 7am today, and as per usual decided to start running a bath, before going down to make the first cuppa of the day.
After getting the bath going, I had cause to flush the toilet (not every minute detail required – see Stephen that’s how you cut down on pages). It didn’t flush so I decided to check if there was water in the cistern. It’s one of the old-fashioned porcelain jobs with a heavy lid. As I carefully removed said lid, to my absolute horror I saw what I recognised as a herd of Kamikaze Killer Wasps flying around, above the top of the water level in a full (?) cistern. I tried to replace the lid as quickly as possible, but too late. Two of the killer wasps had escaped.
I was now trapped in an increasingly steamy hot bathroom, bath running and two angry killer wasps circling and doing the type of dance they do to confuse their victim, nay, prey, before going in for the final denouement.
Summoning up a courage I didn’t know I possessed, I managed to open the window, but to little avail. It was blowing a gale and pouring down. I wouldn’t have gone out through the window, either.
I wondered if I could safely get to open the door, run down stairs, and get the Killer Wasp spray from the kitchen. I hesitated . My sister recently told me she had stopped killing any living creature (not that she is a serial killer, I hasten to add). No, she doesn’t drown spiders and, she specifically said, “Not even wasps!”
I pondered for a moment on her new-found humaneness. Then I thought, “Stuff that!” and headed downstairs pronto despite the killer wasps best efforts to stop me.
Returning armed with killer wasp spray, I felt a surge of courage return – until I opened the door. The next few moments were like one of those scenes from a Battle of Britain movie, when they show planes chasing each other around the sky, whilst ( I always think inappropriately) playing classical music.
I have to say I fired off enough fly spray to sink the Graf Spee – I know, mixed metaphors and all that, but you get the picture. Still, they pursued me. I had no alternative other than to withdraw to the relative safety of the landing.
Despondently, I considered the reality of the situation. Potentially, the bathroom on the landing would now be permanently out of bounds as indestructible killer wasps ruled the roost in that room. From there they could re-group in readiness to take the whole of the upstairs of the house (although, I think they would have signed a peace treaty with the lads not to attack their side of the house on the grounds no one wants to go into their bedrooms or bathroom).
I thought I’d try one last attack. Opening the bathroom door very gently, I felt my whole body shaking as I readied myself to defensively attack – if that makes sense. There was neither sight nor sound of the killer wasps.
The window remained open. Had they decided that their best option was to escape into the grey rain laden skies? That wouldn’t have befitted kamikaze killer wasps, though, would it?
I decided to go down to the kitchen and make the cup of tea that I was now desperate for. I didn’t feel victorious in victory – partly because it’s not the right way to be, and partly because I thought the little ‘bustards’ might be sniggering behind the sink, waiting for me to get in the bath where I would be easy meat for a killer attack.
I decided to go back and carry out a house-to-house search of the bathroom. Nothing. No sign at all. Then my eyes caught sight of something under the bubbles from the bath foam. It was a killer wasp. I scooped it out in a cupful of water. I examined it as closely as I deemed it safe to do so. I decided I hadn’t got a f’in clue what it was. I thought for a second about sending it off to the lab for tests but then decided to chuck it out of the window. Sure, enough I found the other creature further down the bath, near the taps. I scooped it up and lobbed it in to the dark grey yonder, too.
By now, I’d gone off the idea of a bath or indeed of being in the bathroom, so I went and had a shower instead.
More questions than answers remain.
How did killer wasps (now reclassified as ‘creatures unknown’) get into the cistern?
Are there anymore there?
Who is going to be brave enough to check?
Should I refrain from telling the lads and then ask one of them if they can go and check if the cistern is filling up, ok?
Sounds like a plan.
Welcome to my blog. This is my free writing space with no limits. My views.
I’m a husband, Dad to two boys and three German Shepherds, lawyer for over 30 years, law firm founder, professional writer, long-distance runner, grateful recovering alcoholic, politically on the left, European, theatre lover, Man City FC & Lancashire CCC fan, Mancunian now living in the lovely countryside of rural Essex. Co-owner of 17,000 books!