"You're an insect! Down!"

That was a quote delivered by the French actor Alain Delon in his 1975 version of the Zorro story. Quite nice, even if it was rather hastily slapped together and cliched. (Argh! I can't type any French accents!) But then, I have a weakness for low-budget '70s films with typical hippie music...no idea why. Maybe because I was born in the '80s and just missed all the hippie stuff. Another example -- the "Wilderness Family" series. Not exactly low-budget, but not crystal-clear high-quality film either. Still, the acting was fairly good, and I always like seeing Robert Logan and Heather Rattray act together.

But I am getting off topic, once again! I do that a lot. Why did I begin this blog with that nonsensical quote (though it does make sense, taken in context)? Because we seem to be in the middle of a plague of BUGS!!!! Especially deer flies and horse flies. They're terrible! I've never seen such ravenous, crazed insects in all my life, except in those (once again, low-budget) movies like Killer Bees and Swarm, or whatever they were called.

I went out riding the other day, on my horse Max, and when we started away from the barn and toward the trails blazed through the woods, we had to come racing back at Max's top speed to get away from the flies! The second we set hoof into the woods, the flies were there, surrounding us like a swarm of tiny thousand-eyed piranhas with wings. Farfetched simile? Of course. But the terror was real...

There were at least 40, I swear I'm not lying, 40 flies circling us within two seconds. I turned Max around and gave him his head, and he leapt back toward the barn at a full gallop. He didn't like the flies any more than I did.

Then yesterday -- no, wait, it was the day before yesterday, unlike The Day After Tomorrow -- I went out to pick blackberries. Knowing the bugs were going to be bad, I smeared on handfuls of lemon eucalyptus bug repellent, even putting some in my hair. I went out with a big plastic mixing bowl and garden gloves, but I should have put on my cowboy hat. The flies tried divebombing me, then left me alone for about a half an hour. After that, I put giant grape leaves on my head to try to keep them away. Didn't work, and I looked like a dork.

They started bothering me in earnest then, as I paused to pick a few more berries before dashing back toward the house. When a cloud of them surrounded my head, buzzing fit to intimidate a rattler, I, in rather a cowardly move, fell over onto my back and kicked my Wellie-shod feet in the air, shouting insults at them and their ancestors. These epithets are usually reserved only for spiders, so you can see that I was seriously affected at that point. Scrambling back to my feet, I grabbed my bowl, my gloves, and my waning courage and ran for the house, waving my free hand in the air over my head in a vain attempt to scare them away. (Hitting large flies with your bare hands is a sport recommended only for the stout of heart.)

But I got my berries! And this morning I hauled the bowl out of the icebox and tried to make a berry pie. It looks lovely, and I worked very hard. I can't say that it tastes all that bad either...but if only I hadn't added so much cornstarch...*sigh!* It's rather the consistency of tough jell-o.

*Note to self: And you think you can make a satisfactory Spotted Dog??? Ya barmy sheila...*

Well, perhaps with Jess's help, things will go better. I also tried to make Rout-Cakes today, per the receipt in Lobscouse and Spotted Dog. We shall see, my friends, we shall see. I'm waiting for the frosted cake to cool so I can cut it into pieces and try some. If you see another blog sometime within the next couple of weeks, that will mean that I actually did not poison myself, wonder of wonders. But no guarantees.

Mother took one look at my Rout-Cakes, raised a brow, made a disagreeable "humph" noise, and grabbed a white/dark chocolate chip bikkie instead. I guess she thought that would be safer. A moment later, however, she admitted, "Well, it does smell good..."