The Ant: A continuation on the words of Brother Simon...

Having moved into my own place (with my older sister), I now have the job of sorting out those little things that one would probably just leave for someone older to do...Or maybe that's just me. In any case, replacing lightbulbs, changing bin bags and sweeping the pool step come to mind. However, these tasks are absolute luxuries when compared to sorting out an Ant Problem.

I know what you're thinking; What are you talking about? A few ants never hurt anybody, let them be...I was under that same state of mind until reminded of the little suckers in Simon's recent post, and it suddenly dawned on me. They have the perfect war strategy: Unlimited numbers, and not a care in the world!

I've recently noticed an increase in the amount of white sandy mounds being pushed up all around my house, this is of course the sand in between the bricks of the paving, but it's making me slightly nervous. I have these thoughts of a lovely calm Sunday morning, not a breath of wind, the neighbour walks by with his Golden Retriever and suddenly the house groans and creeks then vanishes into a massive elaborate catacombe beneath the ground, leaving nothing but a cloud of dust and the faint sound of a million tiny cheers!

Plus, whenever you see an ant moseying around and you put your hand or a book or something down in it's way, it will simply stop dead for two seconds, turn around, and mosey off somewhere else, as if to say, "You think you are winning, but I don't even have a plan here. I'll go this way if I like, maybe I'll just turn around. Maybe I'll lead three thousand of my closest friends into your kettle!"

I can't possibly understand what they get out of climbing into a kettle full of water. Unless they really are that bent on making my life just that little bit harder. Because now I have to get the little strainer out, because the fishing with a spoon has no doubt failed, or I can make another cup. Hassle. Maybe its a strange ritualistic suicide where all the young males prepare and say their goodbyes to their families and climb into the Great Metal Vat and hope that the mighty hand comes down and begins the boiling process. Who knows?

Which reminds me...Why are Refuse Men so keen to shout things at the top of their lungs at 7 in the morning? (Bad link but I guess ants like refuse so there it is..) I can't make out what they are shouting either but there's always some whistling involved and one guy sounds like he's egging on a fight. Must either be something along the lines of, "HEY MAN! IT IS SERIOUSLY UNCOOL HOW EARLY WE HAVE TO BE AWAKE! I WISH WE COULD SLEEP IN A LITTLE LIKE THE PEOPLE OF THIS LOVELY NEIGHBOURHOOD!"

or, "HEY MAN, I JUST FOUND AN OLD POOL NOODLE! THOSE THINGS WERE FUN..."

Dyl Streep.