Bloody Mosquitoes.
Within hours of arriving I'd already got more lumps than a litre of milk from Netto, and would have been less itchy wearing a wire wool poncho.
For some reason they seemed to leave the locals alone. My blood must be the equivalent of some exotic foreign drink. Like Malibu.
Apparently, only the female mosquito bites. Typical.
My elbow. I think I had one of my arse, but generally I can't tell the difference.
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