Even those who dare to win don’t mess with the midgies - Susan Morrison

Famed midgie-deterrent Avon Skin-So-Soft is included in the essential kit for the SAS whilst on Highland training. Picture: UK MoD ©crown copyright

Looking on the bright side, I suppose it’s nice that something still finds me attractive. It’s been a lifelong relationship, me and the midge. No childhood hot summer day was complete without lashings of calamine lotion to soothe sunburn and bites in equal measure. Of course, this being back in the 1960s, this ritual of lotion-dabbing onto various bits of scarlet skin was just prior to pulling on our brushed bri-nylon jammies.

Naturally the lotion stuck to the jammies, which meant every morning started by carefully chiselling off fabric, dried lotion and scabby bits. Not forgetting the peeling sunburned skin. Always an achievement when you pulled a longer sheet of sun damaged epidermis away than your wee brother. What can I say, we were a mildly competitive family.

When it came to bites, though, you can bet that I won that competition hands down, especially if that palm was to slap a rogue midgie. They will literally fly for hours to get at me. Not just midges, to be fair. Once on a caravan holiday in Italy I had so many bites on my legs that skilful use of a marker pen to join the dots revealed Dusty Springfield in her glory, complete with lashings of eyeliner and trademark beehive.

On that particular holiday I wound up sleeping wearing ten denier American Tan tights to bed. It was the only thing that kept whatever it was at bay. I’m still not sure if it was the combination of nylon and lycra that kept the beasties away, or the fact that the stylish Italian pests regarded American Tan as beneath them.

Here in Scotland, though, it is usually our domestic terror, the midgie, that gets me. No idea why people think this is only a rural menace. Trust me, midges will get on a train to find me. I’m some sort of ten course tasting menu for the little pest, and they can detect me with the accuracy of a Great White Shark scenting blood on the other side of the ocean miles. A wee cloud of midges can be swarming aimlessly about Dundee, blithely ignoring the veritable smorgasbord of fresh plasma coursing through the veins of newly arrived students, when suddenly a solo midgie will twitch an antenna southwards. The signal will go out. The Susan Buffet is open. Quick hop onto ScotRail and before you know it, dinner is served.

Hiding in a crowd makes no difference. They still zero in like little hi-tech missiles, seeking only me. They don’t seem to like Yorkshiremen, which is why when I wake next to my husband in the morning, he’s bite-free and I’m back joining the dots to find Big Ben on my ankles.

I’m not alone in this. There seem to be people midges just love, and there’s nothing we can do about it. I’ve tried everything, even the famous Avon Skin-So-Soft, essential kit for the SAS whilst on Highland training. That tells you a lot about the ferocity of Scotland’s flying blood-suckers when even the boys who dare don’t mess with the midge. Ah well, I guess it's back to the calamine lotion for me.