I hate summer

Also, Africa. I hate it. And Observatory. And being a Grown Up.

3 words: Total Bug Onslaught.

First there were flies.
Granted making fish pie on a hot summer's afternoon was possibly not the best idea, nor was creating a makeshift fly-shield from an upturned colander and a page torn from a magazine, but we wanted, nay needed, a run to the park before supper and what could be better than a late afternoon trip to the park in the knowledge that supper's ready and waiting at home?

Round about then we encountered the spider. You know what else I now hate? Kirstenbosch Gardens.
For if we'd not spent an idyllic 3 hours there the day before, picnicking with guinea fowl in shady spots, walking around collecting acorns and interesting leaves, paddling in a stream while Stella slept in the pram under low-lying branches - if we'd not done that we'd probably not have collected the ENORMOUS RAIN SPIDER I now noticed clinging Cape-Fear-style to the bottom of the pram as we left the house.
The pram which had travelled back from Kirstenbosch in the boot of my car. The pram which had spent the night parked in my hallway. The pram which was now packed to the hilt with hats and toys and had my chubby and delicious baby strapped into it.
(This is the part where I hate being The Grown Up. This is not the first time.)
Staying calm I thought I'd wheel the pram out the front door, then attempt to flick the spider off it (and hopefully far away), all the while being casual and informative about spiders in general for the benefit of my two small children.
Wheel pram out. Lock gate. Look down. Spider gone.
Freak the fuck out.
Stella out the pram, extract essentials (my phone, her yoghurt), wheel pram back inside and go to the park in the car.

Later, tired and hungry, I can't help but feel smug that supper is ready and waiting. It seems so seldom I get it right. Good mother.
I lift the colander and gag. You know the expression 'black with flies'? I get it now. Black. With. Flies.
I give the pie to the dog, and scramble eggs for the girls which we eat in my bedroom on the other side of the house.

But that's not all ...
Seems I also hate small independently owned spice shops. 'Cos if I only ever bought spices and dry goods from corporate giants I bet I wouldn't be facing the highly undesirable task of emptying and fumigating all my kitchen cupboards tomorrow to purge ourselves of the weevils which've suddenly started appearing in our dry goods. Or at least there'd be a Client Services type I could complain to.
'Dear Mr Fargo, the very cheap (but admittedly delicious) breyani rice your brother-in-law helps you import under the radar from Pakistan seems to have given us weevils in our muesli,' is just not going to fly ...

Urgh. Flies.

A quick recap of tomorrow's To Do list then:
1. Buy proper fly net food covering thingie
2. Gingerly unpack pram, shake everything out and investigate all nooks and crannies (remember to pee beforehand)
3. Develop response for very likely scenario in which I don't find spider (example: sell house)
4. Fumigate kitchen and possibly throw away a lot of otherwise fine foodstuffs

So much to look forward to.