Mosquitos: a Commentary on Life’s Utter Bastards

I had been warned, by a French colleague, to be extra wary of the mosquitos in Southern France. I ignored him, on account of him being Parisian and not, therefore, actually from the South.

My mother tells stories of how, as a baby in Australia, I used to be fodder for the little buggers and that my ears would swell to three times their size after they had sated their thirst for infant’s blood. I have tiny ears, so they probably just looked normal after these assaults.

Growing up in Africa the swines were less selective and engaged a more blanket attack on the populace. Anti-mozzy solutions were in abounds so I was never really affected. Here, at least, the status-quo was in my favour.

In Antibes, however, they are out in force and with a penchant for muggins here. To say I have been bitten is an understatement. My legs look like those of a leper, my arms seem to swell to twice their normal size (not bad for a cyclist as I no longer look like a stick insect, just a well fed one) and there appear to be enormous growths on my back. One little sod even bit me on the inside of the ball of my foot. DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW IRRITATING THAT IS?!

These articles will recount my battlings with the winged beasties. I don’t imagine there is a lot of material here so you will only have to suffer this a short while. Unlike me, who is resigned to donating my precious blood cells to this population of foul creatures for the foreseeable future.


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