I’ve been on holiday quite a bit this summer. 

I love to go abroad, but there is one drawback every time I do, and it is this.  Insects around the globe gravitate towards Fireman, and if they possess the correct anatomy with which to bite or stab him, they will do so. Without question and without restraint. 

He is the universal starter in the insect banquet of life.  They just cannot buzz past him without a quick munch. 

This would be annoying under any circumstances, but as it happens Fireman has a deeply unpleasant reaction to these bites.  Rather than developing a few red, irritated spots, like normal people, his extremities swell into angry throbbing pustules that itch wildly and swell alarmingly.  He looks more like the victim of some ancient ague than a tourist with a couple of mossie bites.  Attractive it is not. 

I feel sorry for him, I really do, but the fact is I’m a bad nurse.  I’m sympathetic and caring and I produce unguents and lotions and medicines and so forth.  But after about ten minutes of dispensing sympathy, the whingeing gets just too annoying and I lose interest. 

I pootle around the kitchen, vaguely “mmmmmm”ing and “Oh dear”ing as he scratches and yelps and becomes increasingly uncomfortable.  But in my head is an entirely different conversation:

“Yeah, you have boils the size of mainland Europe.  I know that they hurt (cos you’ve not stopped moaning about it).  Stop it already.  This happens every year.  I have given you cream, what else do you want from me?” I really do want him to just stop complaining.  I am a horrible, horrible wife.

It gets worse too – if there is ever a bite in an awkward to reach place I completely refuse to rub anything into it at all:

“What? You want me to rub lotion into that skin plague you’ve got going on there?  Not a snowflakes chance in hell matey-boy……”

I’m sorry.  I know I said for better or worse but no one mentioned suppurating sores.  Till they are recovered, he’s on his own……..