Invaders.

The Lady B has sheep in her paddock. Having sheep in one’s paddock is of less consequence than having ants in one’s pants or bats in one’s belfry, but it’s still a mystery. I wonder whether she knows. Maybe I should send her an e-mail: ‘Do you know you have sheep in your paddock? Is this normal?’

And of slightly greater gravity is the fact that I have a crane fly in my house. It’s sitting on the wall against which my desk is placed, roughly at 11 o’clock high. (I’ll bet they say ‘bearing 330 high’ these days. All the romance is disappearing. It is.) Anyway, this crane fly has a menacing aspect. It invokes the suspicion that it’s about to dive out of the sun and despatch me with a burst of canon fire. ‘Never fly in a straight line for longer than ten seconds’ doesn’t help much.

I’ve never had bats in my belfry, probably because I’ve never had a belfry, but I did have ants in my pants once. I was fishing in a lake out in the country and must have sat on a nest. They don’t like it, you know. They react by swarming and biting. It would have been quite embarrassing if there’d been anybody else around.

No e-mail from Suzie yet tonight. You’re supposed to ask who Suzie is.