Here I am, enjoying the peace of my country retreat and all of a sudden I am swept up, plonked down on a towel (I won’t even bother to inform you of the thread count – shudder) and, er, exposed.
Flystrike, my arse!
I hate it when this happens. Same story, every summer, year on year. If I’m really unfortunate, more than once, too.
Still, just letting them have their way with my bum works best, the kicking and rolling around only prolongs the humiliation.
Plus, I’ve perfected the art of targeted farting, of course.
Next year: wet ones.