Midge. By Liam Lonsdale Midges, oh midges, the vain of our life, Causing pain, stress and terror, loathing and strife. Corrupting many a morning and many an eve, Forcing the donning of a head net and an extra long sleeve. On the highlands of Scotland, the valleys and Dale, O'er lakes, o'er land, o'er hill, crag and vale. You plague us and bite us, while we swat and we curse, We scratch our skin away only making it worse. And for what may I ask is the moral to the story? Use 100% Deet and bask in midge free glory.

Here's a little ditty. You can probably tell how bored I am today! Most countries, states and still proud nations, When trumpeting their reputations, Will offer up their best locations, To tempt the tourist population. The tv films show gorgeous vistas, City lights and pretty sisters. This might get YOU off and packing, But in my view there's something lacking. The thing that has my full attention, Those travel brochures never mention. I need the lowdown, urgently, On creatures with a taste for ME. Exotic trippers know what's coming, Long before they hear it humming, A host of suckers, ticks and cleggs, Snacking sweetly on their legs. Back here at home we think we're sorted, All our dangers are imported. Yet in the woods there's something waiting, Time to don your armour-plating. In foolish youth, a bug that size, Would have no status in my eyes, But now I flee before the legions Heading for my nether regions. Now, some will decide to stay outdoors, To flail about their campsite chores, Or sit imprisoned in their cars Scratching at their spots and scars. Grown men will fill the air with screams Or smear themselves with female creams. But no-one can avoid the gaze Of insect armies on warm days. To those for whom this strikes a chord Don't curse the Scottish Tourist Board Just bow before the midge marauder And slope back south down past the border.

I love being a midge. By Terry the Midge (written on behalf of Terry by Liam Lonsdale) I love being a midge, darting around in mid-flight, I love being a midge, morning, noon and night. I love being a midge, sucking blood all day through, I love being a midge, on your skin I will chew. I love being a midge, in a swarm with the lads, I love being a midge, getting a bite on your 'nads. I love being a midge, i'm insecta nematoceran diptera, I love being a midge, can i make it any clearer??? But oh what is this...? A mighty strong hand. It's swooping and swatting. But where will it land? Oh damn, i'm not stopping. Not me, i'm innocent i swear! Got to fly away quick, oh this isn't fair... **SQUASH** I hate being a midge.

Midges mozzies, nats and g-nats They are all the same. High pitch wines are impending pain. Spindly legs, fine wire wings all rain down. Long proboscis plunged deep into tasty spots. Sucking up rich blood, long and draw out. They leave on their way full and laden. Lines of bites repeated over a walking meal. No section is sacred Ankle, arm and around the eye Middle, midriff, wrist and shoulder, Any where left bare, is fair game. Inner thigh, how did it get there? The skin rises with red welts. An itching every inch. Dark middle ring ragged. Further out, still more pink. With Creams and pills over a week to recede. With scabs and scars The walking wounded, beaten by the smallest of attackers