Wasps

My Nan and Grandad's house was the coolest place to go, it was pretty old and all the rooms were massive with all old fashioned bedrooms and furniture. I think I genuinely used to think there were ghosts there because my Grandad used to terrify us at night into believing there was a little ghost girl in the top of the cupboard.

The best thing about his house was the enormous garden. It was absolutely huge with little fountains and archways and massive trees. In the garden in the summer I used to go out and save all the wasps that flew into the massive pots of water and fountains using a piece of string. I thought I was some kind of wasp hero, and used to get all emotionally attached to each one and name them.

I think partly I did it because ironically I was terrified of being stung by a wasp and it was like if I saved them they'd all be nice enough not to sting me in the future.

It didn't really work out cause a few years later in Christchurch I got stung between my fingers and the little bugger blatantly refused to get off me. So whatever, haven't saved any since.