I join you reader, from my sometime home, well locale I visit so often I ought to pay rent, in North Wales.

Opposite myself are The Disco Goth and a be striped DJ Fuzzyfelt, adjacent to my right is a Glass of rather lovely wine, and a note book, in which I am intermittently making notes at a high speed for Affingham...

Dotting around, in a fugue of high pitched hovering is a mosquito... at some point, it is inevitable at least one of us will be dive bombed.. My money is on the Disco Goth. I have good grounds for this, and thus regale you with the peculiar occurrence..

The Flies of 'steddfod.

Having resided in a field for some three days, in the hot sun of high summer, it is inevitable, no matter to what lengths we went to maintain scrupulous personal hygiene (I for one was walking a 2 hour round trip JUST to shower) that some amount of sweating would have occurred by mid evening.. from sweat emanates pheromones... The Disco Goth, I can only conclude is the very epitome of pheromone production...

To stand by her was akin to being with pig-pen from the Peanuts cartoon, only it wasn't a haze of dirt swarming about her, but a flock of small insects.. some great amusement could be gained by asking her to move and watching the slight delay of a cloud of insects moving just to join her and be close... sadly this spectacle ceased once the sun had set and the temperature had dropped, and it never reoccurred the whole time we were there...

That is all

Back to my wine