Fear the Midges

For those readers of this blog who think I am in a permanent bad mood and only happy when I am whining, there is some good news in the pile at the moment. I am pleased to report I am shortly going on holiday to Scotland. (If you want to remember the Sex Pistol lyrics and find jokes in: ‘A cheap holiday in other people’s misery’ or ‘I don’t want a holiday in the sun’, please feel free). This will be my first proper going away to somewhere for a vacation trip in almost a decade and. I am immensely excited by the prospect of disappearing into the Highlands.

My only concerns about the sojourn revolve around whether Surreal Girl and I will still be talking when we return, how my ribs will cope with camping and midges. I fear the midges. I have visions of being munched alive by a living cloud of the black bastards. When the official Visit Scotland advice about dealing with swarms of the ever-present menace is: ‘Go inside and have a whisky’, I am not exactly filled with confidence I am going to survive unscathed even if I exchange the Black Code for Autan.