Burtdad and I have a funny dynamic, sometimes. We like to accuse each other of highly-exaggerated crimes and then have ridiculous arguments about them. This usually culminates in one of us calling the other a shit, a moment of silence, and then a game of dominoes. I'm not sure what it's about, but it's age-old and it's not going anywhere. With this in mind, I'd like to bring up the time that Burtdad introduced a colony of ants to my living arrangements, and I'd like to do it in a highly accusatory tone.

It was a hot Spanish summer. I was living on a mountain. All around, insects, birds, exotic plants and insects. Did I mention that there were insects? Good. Burtdad had come to see me, figuring he might be missing something, on account of my refusal to leave the area. It had been a lovely day. We'd spent some time in a beautiful park, played a bit of music, chatted about life, enjoyed the local talent, and generally chilled out.

I'd made a van stew for dinner and we'd both enjoyed it to the max (Burtdad hadn't complained about the chickpeas more than fifteen times, so it was considered a success). I wrapped up the kitchen as BD jammed on his guitar, and we decided to go down to the city, to see what bcn had to offer us for the evening. Up until now, all was good. But little did I know, Burtdad had evil intentions, and his plan was about to be set into action.

Behind my back (in a very literal, as well as figurative, sense), Burtdad callously and maliciously tossed his after-dinner choco wrapped into Burt, just as I was closing the back door. There was a dedicated trash bag, but he had obviously calculated his assault such that it was important to bypass this facility and leave the wrapped on the floor. A cold move, unfitting of a father...

We took the Burtdadmobile down to the city, found a space and set about enjoying the gothic quarter - one of my favorite areas of Barcelona. BD seemed to enjoy the place as much as I did, and we found ourselves at a little cafe. Being gentlemen of leisure, we treated ourselves to a cool beer and some snacks, chatted about this and that, and generally enjoyed the cooling evening air that brought relief from the balmy summer heat.

And all the while, a dastardly plan was unfolding, atop the mountain.

As the night drew in, so we returned to where we thought we had left the Burtdadmobile, only to find it wasn't there. Being somewhat familiar with the crime syndicate known locally as Grua, I checked the sidewalk for one of their infamous calling cards - the stickers they place on the road next to the scene of the crime (when they steal your car and then ransom it back to you). But there was no sticker. No indication that the BDmobile had ever been there. And then I realized we were in the wrong street. It was all coming back. No problem. We'll be there in a minute.

We walked.

But it soon became apparent to me that I couldn't remember how to get where we were going. The more I thought about it, the more I thought we were already in the right place. But we couldn't be, and we weren't. And I didn't have any way to find the right place, because I didn't know the name of it. And so, we walked more.

Burtdad shot me one of his trademark eyebrow-based expressions of disapproval, as we continued searching the area for his indistinct little motor. When we eventually found it, it was dark, and we were tired from walking. We slid into our seats with some relief, and I waited for the standard lecture to pass me by, before setting off back up the hill towards Burt.

Back home, I let my usual panic subside, as I checked the doors and found no sign of forced entry (bcn is not a place to leave anything you'd like to see again). Burt was safe for another day, and now that Burtdad was here, it felt even more secure. Just a few hours later, I realized how silly that feeling was, as I got up to water the plants and noticed Burtdad's door was wide open. Suddenly fearing something awful, I ran over to check on him. He was asleep. I couldn't believe the audacity of a thief who would break in so quietly, while someone slept inside. Burtdad took a moment and then his face dropped as he realized he may have been robbed.

But after some inspection, we realized that he had simply forgotten to close the door before falling asleep. A classic BD move. What a muppet. We laughed it off, he closed the door, and I went back to bed.

And then the plan was revealed

As I got closer, I realized it was a line of ants. Under the cover of night, and army had breached my borders and laid siege to something shiny. Again, I couldn't make it out, but it seemed to shimmer in the morning light. Confused, I made faces to demonstrate my attempt to see more clearly and wake up - you know, when you exaggerate opening your eyes, as if it's going to help. After a few long seconds, it started to make sense. It was a chocolate wrapper. With a blob of chocolate still on it.

Burtdad.
You bastard.

The whole plan came together in my mind, and I realized that this highly offensive item must have been deliberately placed there, many hours earlier, in an attempt to incite an anty invasion. Touché. I picked up the wrapped and took it round to the Burtdadmobile, where I was sure to return the favor. I knocked on the glass, offered the yawning gorilla a cuppa, and waited for him to open the door. When he did, I slid the attractive wrapper inside, and imagined the ants walking over him, as he slept. Vengeance would be mine.

Despite my excellent counter-assault, however, the ants refused to leave. Not only that, but they refused to invade the enemy target, too. Burtdad was entirely unaffected by my tactical assault, and I remained firmly under the occupation of the invading forces. And not just for the rest of the day; they remained with me right the way back to Prague, some three months later. What on Earth had he told these ants?

Throughout what I now call "the occupation", I tried everything I could think of, to get them to leave, but they never listened. Soon enough, they were in the food cupboard, all over the cockpit, literally coming out of the walls. I even had to shake my clothes off before changing into them. Thankfully, I'm not phobic about ants, so I was able to tolerate them, even if begrudgingly, but still. The invasion eventually led to extreme measures - a deep clean that warranted the complete removal of my interior, dashboard, and floors. And it was a very confusing time.

As I took out the dashboard, where ants were often seen, I found a half-eaten lollypop behind the clocks. Now, we're talking ant food. No wonder they didn't care that I removed the original incentive for their invasion. But how the hell did it get there?! I cleaned both sides of every surface, all the wiring, all the framing, and everything else I came across. When I finally reinstalled the dashboard, it looked like new.

But that wasn't the end of it. Under the floor, yet more ant food. This time, in the shape of sugar sachets. Something that looked like soy sauce blobs, and yet more candy. And that was just the cockpit. In the back, I removed all the furniture and took up the floor, only to find yet more candy, unidentifiable blobs, and millions of ants. They were so numerous, they looked like a moving carpet. It was quite alarming to witness.

Almost every speck in this shot is an ant.

But once I'd removed the crap, they soon left, which told me I'd finally gotten rid of the source of their excitement. I swept them out by the hundred, with my compact sweepy stick, and when it was done, there was a moment of zen. The ants had done no real damage, and I felt good that they were gone. It was time to rebuild. It was over.

Not Quite

After taking a few days to adjust to my new/former surroundings, I made a start on cleaning up the van. six months of daily living had left things less than ideal, and I'd amassed a solid list of improvements that needed to be made. I'd start by cleaning up scuffed paint ( The Catalan Nudge), replacing a broken bulb and refitting the rear bumper, which had come loose after standing on it a few times...

As I removed the rear light cluster, to swap out the bulb, I noticed a small movement. Unsure what it was, I decided to investigate, and somewhere up in there, I could see a small spider. Being a nice lad, I thought I'd get her out into the bushes, where she would have a better time finding food, but there was something strange about this one. She had a fairly distinctive mark on her back and I was sure I'd seen it, somewhere, before.

A Black Widow, casually living in my van with me.

Here's a fun fact:
Black Widow poison is said to be 15 times stronger than rattlesnake venom.

So that was nice.