By: Blonde Two
I have often thought that the water in Haytor quarry looks good enough to swim in. Lots of dogs appear to love it and it is plenty deep enough. I used to think that one day, I might give its murky depths a try but not anymore.
There are few things that could fascinate a group of fourteen year old youngsters on a trip to Dartmoor, more than a creature that likes to bite into people and suck on their blood. The only thing that I can think would be better would be being with an adult who is prepared to, a) find a leech, b) pick the leech up, c) allow the leech to latch on.
Sadly, I am not this adult. I draw the line at sinking in bogs and waking up to ice on my tent for our Blonde youngsters. I was however with just the right chap at the time and he took great delight in describing the leech’s three bladed mouth parts and their use of anticoagulant; whilst the hungry creature hung from his hand.
Whilst writing this post, I have been congratulating myself for having the good Blonde sense not to live in a time where leeching was a common medical treatment. That was until a bit of quick internet research suggested that I might like to try leech therapy as a cure for the arthritis in my knees. Maybe that swim wasn’t such a bad idea after all.
There’s a good scene In The African Queen where Katherine Hepburn helps Humpty Bogart divest himself of a whole crop of leeches while he whines in a fake Cockney accent. I doubt it would help you love leeches any more profoundly.
Tell yourself you outweigh the little buggers intellectually. Speculate on how they’d taste fried, previously rolled in whipped egg and bread-crumbs. Threaten them with the lighted tip of a cigarette. Come on Blonde Two, remind yourself you’re an Ubermensch.
Reminds me of the farmer on Dartmoor who – looking at the maggots swarming in vast numbers over an injured sheep, – told me that the animal would undoubtedly heal because the maggots had cleaned the wound so well. Cringing instincts are not always right, are they?