I'm in London. It's Autumn, there's a chill in the air and russet-coloured leaves are falling. I soon discover that I love reading about Guyana from the tranquility of an armchair in the mozzie-free realms of Holland Park. Today, I'm reading Richard Schomburg's Travels in British Guiana (1840-1844) and it looks like someone else experienced "a critter in mi knickers" scenario.
So I quote:
"As it never rains but it pours [...] another insect took possession of our privates and certain portions of the abdomen [...]. Almost every grass-blade harboured a species of Acarus [...] known by the general name of Bete Rouge which, sticking on to the person passing along, [...] give rise to an intolerable itching and burning sensation. [...] Only a person who has experienced the awful plague [...Hello!!!! that will be me then...] can have a full conception of the sufferings which of an evening convert the longed-for hammock into a real Laurentian grill [...]. And finally, in order that our hands and face should not get off Scot free these were supplied with myriads of mosquitoes."
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