Late at night, shrouded in protective gear, I crept up on the wasps’ nest

Halfway up the back stairs on a ledge is the body of a wasp so big it’s either a queen or some kind of hornet. I’ve left it there as a warning to other wasps and also because I enjoy the weird effect it has on me. Even though obviously I know it’s there, every time I pass it its shape triggers in me an involuntary shudder: the sinister curve of its abdomen, articulated like plate armour; the warning yellow and black; the horrible sharp black stinger which you can just imagine jabbing into your skin. God I hate wasps!

Some people say that if you just leave them alone they won’t harm you. But I’m not taking any chances. When the wasps start appearing at the al fresco luncheon, drinking the beer and attacking the prosciutto, I’m the pillock you see leaping up from the table and dancing in panic round the garden to escape my pursuer while everyone else looks faintly embarrassed.