Fuddland

Every year around this time, in London, Leicester and I’m sure many other places, we experience the phenomenon of Flying Ant Day, sending people scurrying into their homes, battening down the hatches, sealing the vents, and donning breathing apparatus until every last winged insect has flown off to pastures [or cracks-in-the-pavement] new.

However, right now I’d happily stroll through a swarm of flying ants with my mouth wide open and jam smeared all over my face, having experienced the Sūzhōu (苏州) version on the way home from work: the slightly tautologously-titled Flying Dragonfly Day!

Having grown up in a city, and despite numerous holidays in Ireland and on the canals of Britain, I feel like I’ve seen about four dragonflies in my entire life, so to be walking through literally thousands of the beasties, all suddenly emerged from the city’s network of canals, was a mildly worrying new experience, which my brain decided to make worse by playing Ride of the Valkyries over and over as they flew towards me.

Now, where’s my napalm..?

#1

Daisy | 2006 / 07 / 16 – 05:46

I think I’d be in a strait jacket by now. I’m not squeamish about blood and gore but small flying things really give me the screaming ab dabs.

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