Local man, Martin Shuttlecock, who frequently describes himself as 'a suave and sophisticated man about town' (Somewhat misguidedly, it has to be said.) was reduced to a jibbering wreck last night following a horrific terror attack shocker perpetrated by flying ants.
In his own living room.
Shuttlecock revealed to Skoob News that he had been sitting, relaxing and watching TV with long-suffering wife, Anne, when a particularly vicious housefly started to persistently dive-bomb him.
"I hate flies," he later revealed. "Dirty little buggers they are. They spread disease and stuff."
Not one to take such a ferocious assault on his personal space lightly, Shuttlecock armed himself with a Big Value Pack (Actually a big aerosol can.) of Fly And Wasp Killer. Fast Acting!(£1 at the pound shop in town.)
It made little difference. Try as he might, and even with the fly killer, Shuttlecock was repeatedly foiled in his attempts to shoot down the determined bug.
"It was the Lord Of The Flies of flies," Shuttlecock moaned. "I couldn't nail it. Try as I might. It was the Michael Flatley of flies, the Manfred Von Richtofen of the insect world. Eventually I gave up and sat back to watch the telly."
But, unbeknownst to Shuttlecock, there was worse to come.
Far, far worse.
As the last of daylight began to fade into twilight, Shuttlecock began to experience strange irritations on his exposed arms, neck and face. Initially, he attributed the unusual sensation to the marauding house fly, but as he urged long suffering wife Anne, to draw the blinds, and put the big light on, the true horror was unveiled, in all its gory glory.
"I had these bite mark thingies on me arms," Shuttlecock lamented. "And me neck was itching something chronic. Anyway, when Anne put the big light on, I noticed this winged thing on me arm. An insect like. So I swatted the bugger. Squashed it flat."
A frantic search followed, a search which revealed almost two dozen of the winged devils in various stages of repose on the living room/dining room floor, and even one lounging on top of the old TV set, which Shuttlecock has been meaning to set up for the Playstation, but never quite got around to doing.
"We squashed 'em all," Shuttlecock said. "Anybody passing by outside must've thought we'd gone mad. What with all the shouting and foot stamping going on. Probably thought we were line dancing or something...I mean, I don't have anything against ants, per se, but I don't want to be sharing me sodding living room with 'em. I blame the wife meself - she's always opening doors and windows. I reckon she must've been born in a field. I keep telling her to leave the doors and windows shut, but will she listen? Will she bollocks..."
Further investigations subsequently revealed that the Shuttlecock household now appears to be, once again, an ant free zone. Long suffering wife Anne explained:
"We've had a dead gazebo in the back garden since the winter. I kept asking him to help me sort it out, but he always seemed to be buggering about doing something or other. I reckon the ants must have nested underneath it. But you can't tell that daft twat anything. Clever get thinks he knows it all."
More as we get it.