mostly david ephgrave

Before Thursday, I'd only been stung by a single wasp my whole life. By the end of that day, my wasp-sting tally increased by 300% and one of the culprits was dead at the time; if these trends continue, I'll wind up looking like that pin-cushiony chap in Hellraiser. "But how did a dead wasp sting you?", I hear you ask (your voice a-quiver with intrigue). By leaning on it; that's how. Despite knowing it was there and being mindful of its position throughout my conversation and the perceived threat, I still managed to rest my arm on its mangled corpse to receive its beyond-the-grave vengeance. And I won't lie: it bloody hurt. The scene of the crime was a pub-garden picnic table, and my one mistake was wearing short sleeves. Within seconds of the second squishing - my friend Stephen was the initial culprit what with his deep-seated hatred of flying beasts - my arm began to throb, and that's how an ignorant thirty-something learnt the stinging pot...