I don’t often post on here, but couldn’t resist adding two more earwig stories.
As a student I worked in an old Victorian asylum during the summer break. In those days (early ‘70s) it was still in use as a large mental hospital and my job title was ‘kitchenmaid’, which, as you can probably tell was not so much at the bottom of the career tree as in its roots. I could tell many tales of the cavernous kitchen with its enormous 100 year old oven set into the wall, but to keep to the point..... One morning I arrived to find a black stripe two feet wide round the bottom of all the walls. It was made up of millions of cockroaches, many still alive and wriggling. The company that had the contract for dealing with infestations came round every month and sprayed in the night. Guess whose job it was to sweep them up and dispose of them? The trick was to keep them on their backs, otherwise you stood no chance. The next summer I worked in the same hospital, but as a nursing assistant.
Soon after that, I married and we moved to live with my parents in law while looking for a home of our own. I had a long train journey to work, so I got up before anyone else, washed quietly and dressed in the dark, so as not to disturb the others. Waiting on the platform in the weak October dawn light I became aware of something behind my knee, inside my tights, and felt a smooth lump. It was, of course, a cockroach; tights seem to hold a fascination for them! Its position made it hard to see and even harder to deal with on the country platform with no buildings, or on the small train with no toilet. I tried surreptitiously (!) working it down to my toes and making a hole in the tights, reaching down from the waist to pull it out and just plain squashing it. Nothing worked, and besides the schoolboy sitting opposite started giving me very funny looks. It made for a very tense journey, as the cockroach was definitely alive and kicking. Once I reached my destination I removed it in the Ladies, but nowadays, since I have less shame, I might have said to the other passengers ’excuse me, I just need to get rid of this earwig’ and carried on. The boy would probably have been fascinated to see such an ‘absolute earwig’!