Sir Giles Chumley-Smythe was returning from one of his many adventures in Africa (by S.A.Airways of course) a daring air stewardess approached him to say how much she enjoyed his books. Sir Giles went into his dictatorial mode and told her he had never been bitten by anything he always smothered himself in citronella oil And burned citronella candles all night but feared this would be his last trip for a while because he was travelling home earlier than planned as his heart was playing up a bit. A few weeks later he visits his daughter and comments on the little black flies over her garden pond. ‘They are only gnats, dad’ ‘ gnats, what are those, ones bitten me? ‘Oh, they don’t bite they insert their probuscus and suck blood you know, they are like mosquitoes’ At which point Sir Giles drops to the ground from indignation and fright.
A bit feeble I’m making them up as I go along. Love Victoria. Xxxxxxxx
As a member of the noble ‘What-the-dickens’ family … also known as the Devil’s Own, this intrepid lady of both veiled hat and comment, ventured forth from the Coathanger Province to the Windy City some six months ago.
Whilst deeply respecting Hon. James Clarke and Lady Vicky Withers’s’s’s brave commentaries, these are nothing compared with the horrors of my making a new home down here at the coast where there is and has been, I am reliably informed, an infestation or two or three of the much dreaded Giant African Millipede. I have read up everything there is to know about them; what they eat, where they hide, what they don’t like. etc. Particularly because they decided that my home is their home and their home is ‘theirs’s’s’s’ home.
I have sprayed with every insecticide on the market which has been detrimental for my asthma but I did get one, eventually, that does the trick. Seemingly shongololos have a similar crust on their backs (ugh!) as crayfish and cockroaches, so I bought Dyroach which ha ha, sneer, ha ha, seems to stop them from venturing too near to me as they become so drunk with spray. At this point, I plop a polystyrene cup on top of them until they make circles of themselves and then the Black & Decker hand vac does the rest of the job. Do you know, they climb up the walls in their thousands until your cream painted exterior (of the house not me!) looks like modern art zebra paintings.
I have been told by more than one empathetic neighbour or contractor that these monsters are toyi-toying all the way from Paarl en route for the Eastern Cape and doubtless my home in particular. I believe the roads are sometimes black from the sheer numbers but the cars have to ride relentlessly ha, ha, sneer, ha ha, over them to get where they need to go. Glee for me!
I hate admitting my hatred of God’s creatures to you, Hon. James Clarke knowing what an inveterate nature lover you are and all that but have to tell you that in view of the approaching mating season of the horrid swine in question, I am preparing for the Spring onslaught by digging a moat around my house and anyone who wants to come and see me can either jump over the bleeding thing or fall into the swirl of swinish shongolola infested water. I just don’t care!
Ha ha, Vicky. I see you are as entranced with His Nibs’s’s’s’s’ writing as I am. Do you think the gnats were members of the former political party of the same name? hee hee
James Clarke - Writer 
Sir Giles Chumley-Smythe was returning from one of his many adventures in Africa (by S.A.Airways of course) a daring air stewardess approached him to say how much she enjoyed his books. Sir Giles went into his dictatorial mode and told her he had never been bitten by anything he always smothered himself in citronella oil And burned citronella candles all night but feared this would be his last trip for a while because he was travelling home earlier than planned as his heart was playing up a bit. A few weeks later he visits his daughter and comments on the little black flies over her garden pond. ‘They are only gnats, dad’ ‘ gnats, what are those, ones bitten me? ‘Oh, they don’t bite they insert their probuscus and suck blood you know, they are like mosquitoes’ At which point Sir Giles drops to the ground from indignation and fright.
A bit feeble I’m making them up as I go along. Love Victoria. Xxxxxxxx
From Vicky Withers
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As a member of the noble ‘What-the-dickens’ family … also known as the Devil’s Own, this intrepid lady of both veiled hat and comment, ventured forth from the Coathanger Province to the Windy City some six months ago.
Whilst deeply respecting Hon. James Clarke and Lady Vicky Withers’s’s’s brave commentaries, these are nothing compared with the horrors of my making a new home down here at the coast where there is and has been, I am reliably informed, an infestation or two or three of the much dreaded Giant African Millipede. I have read up everything there is to know about them; what they eat, where they hide, what they don’t like. etc. Particularly because they decided that my home is their home and their home is ‘theirs’s’s’s’ home.
I have sprayed with every insecticide on the market which has been detrimental for my asthma but I did get one, eventually, that does the trick. Seemingly shongololos have a similar crust on their backs (ugh!) as crayfish and cockroaches, so I bought Dyroach which ha ha, sneer, ha ha, seems to stop them from venturing too near to me as they become so drunk with spray. At this point, I plop a polystyrene cup on top of them until they make circles of themselves and then the Black & Decker hand vac does the rest of the job. Do you know, they climb up the walls in their thousands until your cream painted exterior (of the house not me!) looks like modern art zebra paintings.
I have been told by more than one empathetic neighbour or contractor that these monsters are toyi-toying all the way from Paarl en route for the Eastern Cape and doubtless my home in particular. I believe the roads are sometimes black from the sheer numbers but the cars have to ride relentlessly ha, ha, sneer, ha ha, over them to get where they need to go. Glee for me!
I hate admitting my hatred of God’s creatures to you, Hon. James Clarke knowing what an inveterate nature lover you are and all that but have to tell you that in view of the approaching mating season of the horrid swine in question, I am preparing for the Spring onslaught by digging a moat around my house and anyone who wants to come and see me can either jump over the bleeding thing or fall into the swirl of swinish shongolola infested water. I just don’t care!
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Ha ha, Vicky. I see you are as entranced with His Nibs’s’s’s’s’ writing as I am. Do you think the gnats were members of the former political party of the same name? hee hee
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