Mosquitoes

Australians think themselves a tough breed. We laugh in the face of the world's most vicious animals (for otherwise we should cry). We persist in this belief because we have not faced Finnish mosquitoes. They are the Biggest, Meanest, most aggressive Son-of-a-Bitch sanguivores on the planet.

I should have been suspicious when I saw a country the size of Finland having a population of only five million. If a region of low population density is adjacent to regions of high population density, there is usually a very good, very entomological reason.

Think Scotland. Scottish delusions of national toughness are justified not by any particular martial prowess (massively overrated in my opinion), but by their masochism in enduring all those bloody midges. I'm certain Hadrian built his wall for keeping out the midges rather than their tartan-toting food supply.

My first encounter was at a road-side toilet stop. Which was occupied. Never mind, Australian males laugh at the frivolous luxury known as a dunny. I descended among the trees, unzipped, and proceeded with my business.

It was like the X-Files.

With a degree of coordination entirely improbable from their brain sizes, over a score of them struck. Some targeted the face, others my exposed neck, and some heroically even managed to penetrate my fleece. The truly evil bastards, however, went for bits that were not, shall we say, normally exposed to the environment.

Now that. *That* is just not cricket.

First, I squealed. Like a girl. Then I swatted, like I've never swatted before. With wild gesticulations, I disrupted their attack. But... Piss. Flying in all directions. Hither. Thither. All over my trousers. I tried holding it in, but that half litre consumed an hour beforehand needed out, and I was committed. It was a *very* long minute.

By the time I could safely flee, the bastard hogging that critical necessity known as a dunny had departed so I could lock myself in, the mosquitoes out, and scrub away. I wasn't wholly successful, but escaping with only urine-stained trousers, I considered myself lucky.

After a few days of rarely venturing from my car, I bought a mosquito repellent with a frighteningly incomprehensible active ingredient and that made my face sting like a bitch. But that was far, far better than the alternative.