Tick, How I Hate Thee

For the first time in years I pulled a tick off me last night. Ugh. there I was, lying in bed reading ("The Surgeon's Mate", no, it's not some Mills & Boon, honest) and scratching. And inspecting what I'd scratched. It was only when one of the bits of dead skin waved back at me that I sat up and took notice. Quickly.

A sodding little nymph, or whatever they are called. It couldn't have been properly attached. So, that was me wide awake, and it was off to Madame Guillotine.

It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest that I go to, than I have ever known.

Now, what is a wonder, is did little Sydney hide himself on me for a couple of days, or did he fall off my kit when I got round to unpacking it on Monday. I'm watching for the rash.