On Wednesday evening, in the garden of the grammatically inept Buckinghamshire public house The Grove Lock (“delay on hot meal’s approx up to 30 mins”), I was bitten by an earwig. “Ha ha ha” said
strange_powers and
d_sameboy as they polished off my chips while I examined the earwig for evidence of radioactive contamination. Or recently emptied egg sacs. You can’t be
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So says the lady in Boots, who flogged me some but advised antibiotics if I'm still itching in a couple of days.
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