I’m, understandably, asked lots of natural history questions by friends and family, some of which are purposefully set to wind me up, like - ‘what’s the point of…...?’ It is usually a question that warrants a long philosophical answer about our ‘modern-world’ relationship with nature. In my callow days I’d try and do the question justice with a thorough scientific and moralist response. ‘Alright, I only asked’ was a common reply. Now, when faced with: What’s the point of mosquitoes? Or slugs? Or fleas? (It’s always invertebrates!) I stick to a simple childish ‘Well quite a lot really, what’s the point of you?’ Harsh, but often fair.
Wasps are always a hard sell, often being both feared and loathed. In late summer they gather in ever increasing numbers and appear to target the human race, particularly those picnicking or at their neighbour’s barbecue. Nearly all of us have been stung at least once, and it hurts. Accounts of people being stung hundreds of times, or dying from anaphylactic shock, appear on occasion in the news. Wasp stings are an occupational hazard in wildlife conservation work, I once cut straight through a wasp nest with a brush-cutter, resulting in 22 stings and meriting a painfully scribbled note in the accident book. I clearly recall my first wasp sting, I was in Lorenzo’s back garden and, unknowingly, sharing a fizzy drink with a rather angry and covetous one; not surprisingly I got stung on the bottom lip. It was from Lorenzo’s Sicilian mother that I learned that Vespa isn’t just a Mod’s beloved ornamented scooter.