The allergic response to those bites received last Wednesday continues; I have a swollen hand that looks like a small rubber cushion, no knuckles visible, with a feeling of intense pins and needles, although the waves of general malaise have stopped. I don't know what those little black and white flies were, but they certainly knew how to take advantage of a very small area of exposed skin. B***ards, as the Lovely Son would say (and does).
Down on the allotment yesterday, Eddie the Poisoner saw the bloated hand (as it handed him some newly baked and buttered cheese scones, incidentally) and responded by launching into a sorry tale of people afflicted by flesh-eating bacteria following a sand flea bite. Well, he would; he specialises in enjoying the dismal, the doom-laden and the deadly, and we know better than to allow ourselves to be too alarmed. The war on weeds continues, but this time with insect-repellent applied.