So, get this: I am at my local railway station, minding my own fucking business, when I realise something is moving in my trousers. I'd like to check it, obviously, but I see a person has just gone into the bog and only one of the three toilets is open. Dilemma: I can hardly drop my trousers there and then on the platform, especially as the one opposite is chocka with people headed to Brighton. I wait a bit, sensing whatever it is creeping up my leg. I am flustered - very flustered - trying to look normal, in an unflustered way. It feels perhaps like it has little wings beating. Beating little wings and tiny legs. (Is it a moth? Is this all some metaphor about 'moths in trousers'? 'Don't go there', I think.) What feels like a pin whacks my upper thigh now, left leg. Fuck. A wasp. I still try to appear normal on the platform, while jigging and shaking my foot and holding the cloth of the trousers away so it/the thing can drop. The bastard does it again. Whack. Meantime, the pain is beginning on the first hit, spreading into my thigh, travelling like an ink stain on blotting paper. I can actually visualise it doing this in my mind's eye, y'know. I hear the loo flushing, the person emerges and I leg it in, trying to not look too keen. Let's be British about this, after all. In two seconds, I have my trousers down around my ankles, dancing on the spot, attempting to find the bloody creature currently invading that part of my body seen by few, admired by many. Then I see it, on the grey flecked floor. Worse than I thought: a hornet. A fucking hornet, though nothing like as big as the one that got me in the greenhouse two years ago, when I was picking grapes. I 'take it out' with my shoe - in part in due deference to loo customers that follow me, but also secretly in retribution to all hornets, especially the ones that got me previously and got away. As I write on the train now, the pain is very much there, and, well, nobody can say I don't suffer for my art. I hope my friend, Bernard, appreciates this as I am carrying on editing like a trooper. 'Never let it be said'. This is a short story brought to you by iPhone and remind me not to attempt a novel through the same means as it's a bit long-winded.