Been up since 3am, thanks to biblical thunder and the kind of thoughts that make you wonder if you left the oven on in 2017. By 9am, I’d decided today was the day. Final run of the Nike challenge — 5K. Doable. Not Everest. Trainers on, sports bra locked down, vest filled with water like I’m trekking across the Mojave.
I wasn’t heading out. Not today. I was shattered after the 3am storm and overthinking alarm, and frankly, I didn’t trust myself to get round the corner without collapsing on someone’s driveway. So – treadmill it was. Music on, legs limbered up, just needed to open the window for a bit of air…
And that’s when I saw it.
🐝 The Wasp Rave
The vent by the back door is buzzing. Literally. Wasps. At least twenty of the yellow-arsed bastards coming and going like it’s a Tesco Express. I pause, blink, hope I’m hallucinating. Nope. It’s a full-blown wasp rave.
Cue the risk assessment.
Do I:
A) Keep the window closed, crank the fan, and run the sweatiest 5K of my life?
B) Open the window and attempt the run holding a can of Raid spray like some sort of death scented inhaler?
C) Say sod it and go back to bed?
Option C, would have probably been the most sensible, but, I chose option A — fan on, window locked tight, and the scent of heat, desperation, and impending arse sweat filling the room like a fog. It was 23 degrees inside, but emotionally? 42. I wasn’t counting miles. I was counting wasps. I’d love to say it made the time pass faster, but no, of course it didn’t.
By 2.5 miles I was a beetroot. A sweaty, mildly feral beetroot. I wanted to hit the full 5K, but the heat was dragging me backwards. So I stopped, red-faced, soaked, gulping water like a Labrador, and immediately decided now — now was the perfect time to go outside and confront the wasps.
⚠️ The Raid Mission
Not tomorrow, not when the cavalry (a.k.a. Wasp Nest Foam) arrives. No, I decided to act mid heatstroke, wearing a PJ top and a pair of pants so big they have their own postcode. I still smelled of meat and potato pie. I hadn’t even cooled off and I was radiating heat like a toaster on full blast.
Armed with a half-used can of Raid and no solid plan, I approached the vent like I was defusing a bomb. Sprayed the whole thing. It foamed up, dripped down, and to my shock, they actually started to bugger off. They flew out, circled, and reconsidered their life choices. Some hovered and left. It wasn’t a full victory, but it was a decent shift in power. I’d made my mark. Temporarily, at least.
So now I’m inside, watching them from behind the curtain like a sweaty MI5 agent. I’ve set up a homemade juice trap that probably just looks like I’m hosting a picnic for insects. And I’ve got the proper wasp foam arriving tomorrow because this isn’t over. They’ve squatted in my sunbathing zone. This is war
P.S.
If anyone knows whether wasps hold grudges, please let me know. I’ve just remembered I left the bedroom window open.
Lottie x
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