07/09/2026
πΌπ ππΏπ ππ ππ ππΌππππ πππππ π¦β°οΈ
Friends, family, fellow holidaymakersβ¦
we gather here today to mark the passing of a complete and utter bastard.
For nearly πππ«π π£ππππ©π¨, Sir Mosquito of Crete terrorised my bedroom.
By day, he vanished.
By night, he feasted.
He drank my blood.
He stole my sleep.
He flew past my ear at 3am whispering:
ππππππππππππππππππππππππππ
I hunted him.
He hid.
I turned the light on.
He disappeared.
I turned the light off.
ππππππππππππππ
The psychological warfare was exceptional.
But alas, this morning, after five nights of battle, his reign of terror came to an end.
He was finally struck downβ¦
ππ πππ ππ ππ πππ
πΌππΌπ
A deeply inappropriate yet strangely poetic place for our relationship to end.
He died as he lived:
too close to my body and absolutely fu***ng uninvited.
There will be no funeral.
No flowers.
No minuteβs silence.
Only sleep.
Sweet, beautiful, uninterrupted sleep. π
RIP, you tiny bloodsucking prick. π¦πͺ¦
*2026β2026*
Cause of death: Fu***ng with the wrong tourist for five consecutive nights.