I have just spent the last 20 minutes doing battle with a chuffing MASSIVE Hornet which was stuck up in the skylight.
It was so big, and literally sounded like a remote control helicopter.
Obviously I was really brave and dealt with the situation in a very grown-up, Mummy fashion.
TRANSLATION: I squealed like a 5 year old girl does when there is a blade of grass in their shoe, said “chuffing hell!” a lot when what I really wanted to say was “F**king hell!!”and kept running out into the garden to regroup my thoughts and next plan of attack.
After various attempts at getting it to bugger off, involving weapons and methods such as lobbing a tied up tea towel at it, squirting it with a super soaker and reasoning with it (it works with the kids, why not a Hornet?), the winning weapon was…a Phlat Ball.
“All hail the Phlat Ball!!!”
(It’s a ball that you can squash into a frisbee type shape and as you throw it, pops into a ball upon launch).
After 26 (and a half) throws (one was a half throw as the thing dive bombed me and my Phlat Ball launch was aborted mid-way) I got the beast and it came crashing to the kitchen floor. I threw a towel on it (and jumped up and down on it for good measure, you have to be sure of these things…) and it’s now laying dead under there ready for my other half to dispose of as soon as he gets in from work. Just what he wants when he walks through the door I’m sure…
The kids were suitably proud of me for downing the beast (by that I mean completely freaked out by seeing me scream and run in and out of the house whilst shouting at them to “get away from the doors in case it flies out!! Mummy’s made it angry!!!)
And I’m now having a glass of wine with my sausages, waffles and spaghetti hoops to settle my nerves.
Victory is mine.
Until we meet again, Hornet…