She said these wasp's nests in your head, These wasp's nests.

Today a wasp flew into my windscreen.

As I was ploughing through the air at a speed of 60mph, a piece of debris slammed into the glass in front of me. A piece of living, dying debris; a fear, a fuhrer of summer picnics.

Black wings, black body, punctuated by yellow hoops, an evil football strip, to terrify. There it was, prostrate, at my mercy. You can't sting your way through glass.

Its frail limbs struggled in the breeze, or perhaps there was still life in it. Trapped now between the screen and a wiper blade, it had no hope. Sadistically bent on revenge, I accelerated.

For all of the times you terrified me, wasps, this is my ultimate revenge.


I'm a terrible person, and I've made a terrible mistake.

Sq.