Suburbia - not for me!

So there I was yesterday morning, weeding my apology of a back garden. It has rained pissistantly for a few days, so there was a bit of a jungle developing. And here, when the weather is hot and damp, and there's a lot of flora, there's also a high chance of mosquitoes. Granted the city isn't as bad as the subsurbs, but the one that was out and about yesterday had its beady eye on me as soon as I stepped outside.

And the result:



It's fair to say that I don't do things by half, so naturally when I get bitten (and I always do) it's not just the red or white itchy blotch. No siree Bob! (Very appropriate American saying!) As can be seen, my whole elbow has swollen rather attractively - believe me, I don't like my arms at the best of times but they're not this weird looking. I once got bitten on the back of the hand and it was so swollen that I couldn't move my fingers for a few days. Decades ago in Jamaica I had 26 bites on one foot (too fed up to count further) and the Jamaicans would follow me around pointing at my red, swollen ulcerations.

The Ball & chain uses me as his personal mosquito deterrent; sit next to me and you won't get bitten. They only have probosces (sp?) for me. I get bitten through clothes, clouds of spray and even sitting next to those expensive back garden machines that effectively suck the little buggers right out of the air. I swear they have a quick nibble on me as they're hurtling past to their fate. A bit like a death row inmate's last meal before execution.

It's even worse when we go on a 'hot' holiday. By the time I have a very light (make that very light) tan, I'm also so covered in bites that I should receive an "R" rating - a regular horror movie in flip flops.

So it's city living for me and holidays in the Antarctic I think. Right, where's that anti-itch cream?