Since we are in the middle of a pandemic it is probably a good time to mention the only other plague I have witnessed, plus I was reminded of this just the other day.
My memory is going back to 2004. I had finally got some money together after my divorce and fancied a holiday. Let's be honest here; I was thinking of sun, sand and sex. It was late in November and the only suitable venue within my budget was Fuerteventura so off I went on my own.
On arrival, I checked into my rather nice ground floor apartment, did some food shopping and went out to see the lie of the land. This basically involved drinking in pretty much every bar in the resort which was in low-season and pretty dead but hey-ho, I was on holiday.
The next day I woke from a long alcohol-induced sleep to find beautiful sunshine streaming through the open curtains so stepped out of the patio window sensing that something was wrong.
My eyes were pretty blurred and I felt terrible, so I went to the fridge to pour some of the nice cheap grape juice I'd picked up from the supermarket only to find that it was actually really bad red wine but once again; hey-ho, I was on holiday and it did make me feel a little better.
Back out onto the patio to work out what was wrong, the ground was crunchy and a pinky-orange colour as far as my sick eyes could see, odd.
Seems there had been a plague of 100-million locusts, blown off-course and forced to land on the island where they had all died from the cold (they must like it really hot). The locals were going around with dustbins and snow shovels to clear away an inch-thick even carpet of insects away in trucks. All quite surreal.
A word to the wise, don't BBQ locusts, I tried it and they really aren't very nice.
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