Bugs. Of the insectoid kind.

By the end of last week I felt a bit like this poor book: chewed up and spat out, a shell of my potential self. Okay, maybe I am being a bit melodramatic. Let’s just say I felt tired and braindead and incapable of doing very much of anything at all. I’m so glad we have The Weekend as an institution, two days to recover.

And what of that husk of a book, you say? Well I’m trying to be calm about it, but we could have a termite infestation in our shed. M took that picture, of a book that’s been stored in the shed for some months. It belongs to jl – used to belong to jl (I’m sure you’ll understand that it’s now in the bin, jl, sorry!) – we were storing some of her belongings that Mum and Dad no longer had room for, now they’ve downsized.

Anyway, while jl was here we thought she might like to go through her couple of boxes to see what, if anything, she wanted to take back to Sydney with her. This did not happen, however, because M had to retreat hastily after opening one of the boxes, to see much squirming (eeeuuu) going on in there. Larvae? Neither jl nor I were game to look ourselves, so we shut the shed again and left it.

M took another look this weekend. Obviously the larvae have had their fill, because this is what we found.

I’m still hoping against hope that the bugs in the shed are just silverfish. (If they are just silverfish they must be Uber Boss Silverfish.) The bug exterminator should be able to confirm the identities of the miscreants, and tell us if our house is in danger of being consumed around us. And I wish my over-active imagination would stop imagining chomping and chewing noises emanating from the shed…

Edit 7:58pm: According to the exterminator, we do have termites. He’ll be coming to drill holes into the ground, in and around the shed, to poison them on Wednesday. Ugh.