I was finally driving home after a long week travelling. I first went from London to my dad's, then to Cathy & Dave's from there before heading to my mum's for a couple of days, driving a total of 1500 km in one week. It felt strange to criss-cross France without my co-pilot, it wasn't as beautiful as it usually is when we travel together. That's the beauty of my husband, he makes everything wonderful. You can stop putting your fingers down your throat, I'm done. So there. A jealous lot you are.
Anyway, I was thinking about this when driving down a country track the sat nav has chosen to take (I swear, this thing must have a fetish for dirt tracks or a serious phobia of tarmac) I spotted a red squirrel hopping along. Having learned from my mistakes and now knowing that animals are sometimes suicidal and throw themselves in front of passing cars (see post 15), I slowed right down until it disappeared in the grass. Five minutes later, a doe came in view and she too quickly disappeared. For a brief moment I felt like Sleeping Beauty in Disney's cartoon (and tired as I was, I was worthy of the name, at least the first bit).
That is, until, the mother of all hornets was sucked in from God knows where and came crashing against me. It was flying furiously from left to right, and from my face to the windscreen. I pressed my head against the headrest as far back as it would allow, breaking hard, all the while shouting "fuck!!! fuck!!! fuck!!!" through my clenched jaws until I came to a stop. It finally went out the window. If my knickers had turned brown at that point I wouldn't have been surprised. Looking back it's a miracle they didn't!
So after all that, the enormous beetle I saw this morning trying to get into the caravan, was nothing. I quickly named it Beetlejuice. I'm allowed to give names to mini-beasts, I live alone in a caravan for God sake. I scoop it up (with a piece of cardboard, I'm not that brave yet) and put it away from the house. But the really great surprise was when I reached the toilets. I was there doing my business when I saw, looking up, something dangling from underneath the stairs (the loos are under the staircase). It took me just a second to recognise it was a bat. It started to sway, which means it was waking up, so I switched off the light and quickly left, quietly. I went to fetch my camera in the caravan but by the time I came back it had gone, probably to the cellar. I was very happy of its return.
Less pleasing to have around are my new squatters. Last week, when Dave and I dropped the washing machine off my dad gave for the school, we were having our sandwiches underneath the préau, when we heard a loud buzzing. We came out into the playground to see a huge swarm hovering above the classrooms, slowly rising to the roof of the house. We follow it from the ground and saw it, pardon the pun, make a beeline for a chimney. Within minutes it was covered with bees. They all went in. Dave, the bravest of us two, having been in the countryside for a lot longer, went to check if they were coming out of the fireplaces but luckily they were closed. So now I'll have to call the Fire Brigade to get rid of them, which is a shame for bees are disappearing at an alarming rate and Fox, if he had been here and ready for them, would have given them a home and looked after them.
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