I’m a Blogger Get Me Outta Here…

We’re surrounded by bugs.

No not the the sickness kind (for once can you believe haven’t gotten ill this whole holiday *touches all the wood* not that kind of wood you filthy beggars).

CREEPY CRAWLIES.

Now when you consider the occupational hazards of working in the South or France I bet you wouldn’t think twice about being terrorised by six legged creatures.

We sat down to have dinner with one of the families staying here and very soon the menu changed form a respectable barbecue to Croquets a la (giant fucking) Beetle, Burger aux Moths and Gnat Sausages. YUM.

Every time a beetle hit a plate or bowl it made a loud chinking sound.

*Shudders*

And at 2am, with empty bellies since lunch time and tipsy guests who didn’t much care about our bug companions, we had to dig in.

I still get flashbacks.

Where’s ant and dec?

This insect buffet was followed with a storm of flying ants that covered EVERYTHING with a thick coating.

Yes like the bible (but yo know…with ants).

No god was not trying to smite us.

We’re good girls.

I digress.

FLYING ANTS.

And no they were not all dead by morning like they were supposed to be, they decided to stick around for the weather. We tried hosing them off and away but for the following days their hatchlings kindly made an appearance too.

Such fun.

Not only did we have to deal with creatures of a six Keyes kind but also the winged kind.

BATS.

Where was the last time you saw a bat? Safe and sound behind a glass cage at tropical wings?

Have you ever had…say…100 of them flying at you?

Unbeknownst to us there was a little bat cave in the alcove of one of the cottages.

In order to get rid of them we had to light a barbecue and smoke them out.

(No bats were harmed in the making of this barbecue).

Well we expected one or two to fly off to safety. There was hundreds!

Duck and cover more like scream and run.

The group of us looked like the characters in the Sims when the house sets on fire, waving around panicking like twats without doing anything to help or moving out of the way.

This was followed by two separate pool cleaning incidents where we found mice in the pool filters.

Yes MICE.

Well I say we…Rachel found them. I ran away and refused to enter the danger zone.

Fuck THAT.

Thank god for science students.

*Dons full protective clothing like on a crime scene*.

Sunbathing anyone?

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Sun, sweat and tears…

For any of you lovely readers that haven’t read my biking post…I am currently living in the middle of bloody nowhere. Like Antarctica sort of no where.

Well maybe not Antarctica…France actually…but house-in-the-middle-of-a-field-with-no-neighbours kind of nowhere.

It’s remote okay.

We woke up one morning and Rachel decided that she’d come down with a severe case of sun stroke (nausea, sickness, dizziness the lot). Our employers wouldn’t drive her and so we had to make a medical pilgrimage to the nearest pharmacy.

Two miles they said.

You’ll be there in no time they said.

It took us two and a half bloody hours to reach the little town.

After the last incident we decided to abandon the bikes and proceed bravely on by foot.

We started off trudging along quite happily with our two maps that joined in the middle.

And then the midday sun hit.

It was so hot.

So hot.

I fashioned my top into a kind of crop top (which some lorry drivers on the main road apparently found extremely amusing…and some old grandmas not so much) and tried not to let my legs fall off in long black leggings.

Why I chose to wear them on a long walk in August is beyond me.

In the heat we made it as far as the main road that lead into the town.

Then the heavens opened.

So there we were…two sad looking, sweat-drenched Brits walking along in a tropical rainstorm with abso-bloody-lutely no clue where we were going.

We arrived at the pharmacy looking like a pair of drowned rats.

Thankfully the pharmacist didn’t bat an eyelid so we could be on our way with the medicine and make the long trek home.

This return trip involved many an expletive and laments about a) the lack of a car b) the lack of someone who can drive a car and c) whether we should have carried on walking to the nearest airport and then on to home (screw the luggage and the fact that the closest airport was an hour by car WE CAN DO IT).

We finally made it home by around 4pm absolutely knackered, and drugged Rachel up.

She was fine by morning, and lived to see another day in France.

Oh Rachel the things I do for you.

Moral of the story: don’t apply for summer jobs in remote locations.

In fact don’t apply for summer jobs abroad at all.

Why oh why can I be a normal teenager spend my summer channel surfing on the sofa?