Bermuda – A Six-Legged Utopia

18 12 2009

“You go to heaven if you want, I’d rather stay here in Bermuda

Mark Twain (possibly after completing a spoiled walk at one of the island’s eight golf courses)

There are many things to be enjoyed at the start of the day in Bermuda.

The probability of another glorious sunrise, the anticipation of dark n’stormys (local drink) in the afternoon and on a Sunday the traditional codfish and potato breakfast.

However for me, it is the brushing away of the first ant from my skin that heralds the true start of a Bermudian morning.

Despite an aversion to most crawling things, I have never really had a problem with these determined little creatures before. They may have been slightly annoying at some picnics, but even then that was normally due to a badly sealed Tupperware box of edibles.

I have even found them to be endearing and cute in animated movies, despite the disconcerting notion of an ant with the voice of Sharon Stone….Basic Instinct with far too many legs.

I have admired their work ethic and amazing ability to carry items far heavier than themselves. But no more.

I hate ants.

My numerous visits to Bermuda have instilled a pathological hatred of these six-legged annoyance devices. No one can deny that this island can be a paradise, but for the ant it is Utopia.

They are even active in December when they are supposed to be sleeping. Rain or shine, the ant is omnipresent.

There are billions of these marching bastards here and they get everywhere. Nowhere is immune to their continual assault. Cupboards, showers, beds, shoes, clothes, indoor, outdoor and even the unmentionable areas of the body are all fair game to the Bermudian ant.

My perception has always been that the ant is attracted to food but these creatures don’t seem to have any specific target. Crumbs of food, pieces of wood, the residue from a bottle of Coke and of course skin are all considered by the ant to be worthy of attention. They swarm in and out of dwellings, a tiny black trail impervious to the human beings who share the space.

Of course we have to retaliate against the invasion, a can of Baygon and the vacuum cleaner is especially effective but they don’t seem to take the hint. Self preservation seems of a low priority to the average ant.

Not for them the thought “hang on, I just lost 200 mates in that cupboard, perhaps I should go somewhere else”. They return again, tiny lemmings marching to an inevitable doom.

Sit down for two minutes in the sun, cool beverage in hand and you will feel them on your legs and skin. You can brush them away but they persist in being an irritation until the only way to gain a brief victory is to crush their bodies into oblivion. If Dr. Doolittle had lived in Bermuda, he would have hated ants.

I am not exaggerating when I say that they are everywhere.

Lean against a photogenic tree, pose and within seconds the scouting party will be on you, feelers twitching like you are some sort of delicious ant jam. I have opened the bonnet of a car to find them in the alternator cap and I have showered with them as they take a kamikaze pleasure in being drowned.

Similar to Paris Hilton, they are relentless and annoying.

It has been said that hate is a negative emotion and there would be those who might feel that to have such strong feelings about such an insignificant creature is pointless considering other more weighty issues in the world. These people have not experienced the ants of Bermuda.

They are a law unto themselves, they don’t care where they go or what they do. We are at war with a relentless invasion of scavengers and as such we must take whatever means necessary to protect our homes and our way of living.

And I am still talking about ants in case the more cynical reader believes this post to disguise a deeper agenda.

I am not a politician.

*this is of course an ironic statement, we all know that Twain hated golf!
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