...and your muzzer was a 'amstair.... (The last post. About wasps, that is...)

When I was running in from plummeting plums with the pole that normally opens the four or five skylights in this house-sit (if this isn't clear, I'm afraid you may need to check previous posts), I halted and gazed thoughtfully at the huge deck umbrella that seems to be the current refuge of my nemeses (plural of "nemesis", right?) the paper wasps. As you may recall, I am flummoxed about where in the umbrella they may be setting up camp. Gingerly I placed the plums inside, then I positioned myself within darting range of the sliding screen door, reaching out with the skylight pole to give the support pole of the umbrella several quick sharp taps. At the inside centre of the umbrella, I saw two pairs of antennae as their owners peered out at me from the edging that encircles the top of the canopy.

I swear I heard little insect voices inside my head using very bad French accents: "We blow our noses at you! We fart in your general direction..." For you youngsters missing the reference:

This evening, a wasp stung me as I groped to turn off the hose in the twilight. It was not a paper wasp, but one of the gang of yellow-jackets hanging out at the south-west corner of the house.

I hope I will have nothing more to say about wasps. The Resident Fan Boy and elder daughter showed up from Hades about twenty minutes ago. They do not smell of elderberries.