An Open Letter to Mosquitoes and other stuff

Dear Mosquitoes

I write this letter to you well aware that you are unlikely to 1) be able to read it and 2) even if you could, you probably wouldn't heed the warning contained. None the less I take this as a personal insult, as if Nick Griffin can read then presumably you, as fellow parasitic irritants, also can.

I freaking hate you. But unlike Wes Mantooth off of Anchorman, I cannot find it in myself to follow that with a "but Goddamn, I respect you". No, I can't, because that would be a lie, and only bad people lie. There is not one ounce of my body that contains anything except contempt and irritation for mosquitoes. Scotland is an oasis of cold weather, which your kind has not yet cursed with its pointless existence. The summer was a joyous release from your faint buzzing, and the really itchy pinpricks you leave us as mementoes.

Returning to Italy was very welcome, but just as fat people go through family packs of Mars bars and litres of Coke for a snack, so mosquitoes go through open windows. Perhaps it's my fault for leaving the windows open, but if you are currently considering subscribing to this line of thought and are a non-mosquito based life form, please stop reading. I only want people that agree and sympathise with me here, thank you very much.

Ok, so now they've all gone, let me continue. I am aware that my blood is not the type of blood that your average mosquito goes for, however, this does not stop the odd cursed-to-infinity-and-back l'il shite (as I like to think of them) having a wee taste. The first instance of this happened last week when I was cooking dinner. I still have the bite on my foot, thank you absolutely not. Then, a few nights ago, I was once again undertaking a culinary adventure when what should meander across my eyeline but, yes you guessed it, a mosquito. (If it wasn't a mosquito then what I'd written before that would be irrelevant and rambling. Oh.) Now, due to the heat and the lack of flatmates, I was cooking in my boxer shorts, as you do. With so much exposed china white flesh on show, I was worried that the l'il shite might try to bite my back or something. So, as any rational person would do, I stood with my back to the wall and tried to prepare the food. This is quite difficult when the cooker's at the other end of the room, by the way. I looked high, I looked low, but try as I might, the mosquito I could not find. Then, lo, it flew in front of me again, mocking me with its tiny tiny brain. So, while my food burned, I jumped around the kitchen trying to kill it. After a mere 15 minutes, the alien creature was vanquished, and is now only a smudge on the great wall of life and the kitchen.

So, let this be a lesson to all mosquitoes out there. If I see any of your kind again, I'll get all John Rambo on your collective asses (but not in the low body count stylings of Rambo 1, more like the bloated kill-all-of-Burma idea in Rambo 4). If I see you anywhere in my house, I will make it my mission to kill you. Then, as I've maybe got too much time on my hands, I'll wait until your children and relatives come to pay their condolences and then I'll kill them too.

So, mosquitoes, the choice is yours.

Yours hatefully,

Me.

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Now that I've got that off my chest, in other news, I've realised that I'm not that keen on other people being in what is ostensibly my house. There was a new guy who came a day or so ago to look at my old room, and he's taking it for next year. He seems perfectly nice, but trying to be nice and friendly to new people? Urgh. I think next summer I'll be ditching this whole co-living with strangers arrangement if it's at all possible.

So, in the spirit of being nice to Florian, I took him to La Lepre to let him see where I lay my hat, not to mention other things when I'm a bit pie eyed. It was all very nice, but there was a bit of a storm brewing with lots of atmospheric and cool thunder and lightning. Then, it started to rain. And rain. And rain. And rain. etc. It was probably the strongest rain that I've ever seen, and when we decided to try and venture home, the rain was literally pouring in rivers down the streets. It's hard to explain how heavy it was, so here's a picture of the amusingly called 'Alley of the Orefices:




This Saturday is White Night, which is another reason to have a few beers. This has made me reflect again on my time here, as my first White Night 2 years ago was both very good fun, and seems like only yesterday. Ho hum.

Brilliantly, this Sunday is also the first home game for the only team from the city of Genoa, and I'm hugely excited about this. Football and it's related sights, sounds and smells is an intoxicating mix, although the intoxication might have something to do with getting drunk at lunchtime. Bring. It. On. Forza. Genoa!

Ciao for now chumps and chumpettes, and congrats for getting to the end of this.

Death to mosquitoes!