I'm not talking about the kids – they've long since outgrown that definition.

I'm talking about proper ankle biters – the unseen enemy whose presence it is impossible to detect until the tell-tale red and itchy lump appears on your leg.

I'm guessing it must be the result of this year's miserable summer which has, at times, been almost tropically warm and wet.
Miserable as it has been for us humans, I get the impression it has been pure heaven for the tiny biters and their breeding habits.

Actually, it's more than an impression. I've only to look at my calves and ankles to see the evidence.

In a sense I've brought it on myself because I have insisted throughout the summer months on wearing three-quarter trousers, as traditional trousers just aren't comfortable enough and I'm not sure it is fair to inflect the sight of me in shorts on anyone these days.

For several weeks now, every time I have been out gardening I have come back in to find a fresh bite or two on leg or arm.

The same has happened as I've stood putting the world to rights with the other soccer dads who taxi drive their offspring to twice-a- week al fresco evening training sessions.

I'd really like to know if other people have experienced more bites this year.

I get the impression from chatting to colleagues in the office that they have.

Is something strange happening here?

Is the planet altering in some almost unnoticeable way?

I suppose one positive is that there seems to have been fewer wasps around.

Apart from on a couple of occasions a few weeks back my electronic wasp zapper has remained virtually redundant this summer.

Come to think of it, I haven't seen a daddy long legs either.
Mrs S who, unlike me, can brave even the fiercest looking spider hates these spindly flyers with a vengeance.

In summers past I have frequently been employed to catch them and chuck them out of the bedroom window. But this year there hasn't been one. I have also yet to see a giant house spider skulking around the periphery of the room when the lights are out.

As a card carrying, badge wearing arachnophobe I'm not moaning about it but in a way it does concern me.

If wasps, crane flies and spiders are disappearing what's the reason? What will be the consequences? What might come in their place?

It's like something from Doctor Who.

As a footnote, a report in The Times this week did indeed suggest that the NHS Direct helpline has reported a rise in the number of calls relating to bites and stings. And, more worryingly, it also suggested that more frequently warm and damp summers will bring to our shores distinctly unwelcome nasties such as the fever-transmitting Asian "tiger" mosquito and the wasp's far meatier cousin, the hornet.

At least that will mean my bug-zapper will see some proper action soon –though that's not necessarily a good thing...


Old moaner Connery meets his match

WHEN I was a kid, Sean Connery was my hero.

He was James Bond. He was a genial guest on Pro-Celebrity Golf.

He could do no wrong.

Now if he came towards me, I'd probably cross the street to avoid him.

I'm all for being proud about who you are, and where you're from, but I've had enough of his whining on about Scotland's place in the world.

He's just another old man with a chip on his shoulder – albeit one with the clout and the brass to be able to force it upon those of us who might not wish to listen.

Jumping on a topical bandwagon, curmudgeonly Connery says he'd like to see a separate Scottish Olympic team.

It's a view which is fortunately not shared by one infinitely more qualified to debate such matters – Scottish gold medal winning cyclist Chris Hoy.

Connery told the Edinburgh Book Festival: "Scotland should always be a stand-alone nation at whatever, I believe."

But the ex-Bond was given an M-style slapping down by Hoy, who said: "Scotland is part of Britain, they are not mutually exclusive, I'm a proud Scot and I'm a very proud Brit as well."

Well done to him.

Connery's bluster plays right into the hands of dangerous separatists like Scotland's First Minister Alex Salmond.

Britain is Great because it is united.

People who believe it would be better torn apart are deluding themselves and sowing ill-judged seeds of discontent.

As a proud Englishman and a very proud Brit I'd like to ask Mr Connery to kindly put a sock in it.


Playing it cool

ONE of the great things about being British is how well, collectively, we deal with a potential crisis.

A near capacity audience at last week's opening night of Evita at the Grand Theatre in Leeds was somewhat taken aback by the unexpected appearance on stage of a manager towards the end of the first act.

Looking rather flustered, he asked if everyone would please leave the building due to "circumstances beyond our control".

Now there were quite a few people of a certain age in the audience but there was not one, as far as I could tell, who panicked.

A calm and orderly procession made its way on to the street outside where everyone waited in a patient huddle until, around 20 minutes later, the all-clear was given.

Alarm

It turned out that some stage effects had triggered a fire alarm. There was no actual fire as far as I know but, obviously, in such cases it is always better to be safe than sorry.

Credit should also go to the performers who seamlessly and with outstanding professionalism picked up from where they left off as if they'd never been interrupted.

There is, however, one worrying footnote to this tale.

The only person who did seem to get themselves in a flap was my elder daughter – who I've never seen move so fast.

It made me think that if ever our lives depended on something I'd better not count on her hanging around long enough to help me survive it.