As soon as the summer heat arrives I become dish of the day for insects.

Byline: Maureen Spring

SOFT, succulent, luscious and deliciously tasty.

No, not Wimbledon strawberries (or in my case the ripe super-juicy ones I braved a heatwave to pick for myself), it's ME I'm talking about. And don't think I'm boasting about being so delectable.

Quite the opposite in fact. Believe me, it's not fun being the gastronomic delight of the insect world the moment the sun comes out.

I dread this predicted long hot summer - and for once it seems the people who know about things like gaps in the ozone layer that let the heat through are right - we're going to be toast by autumn. And here we are only just into July and zillions of winged things are at this very moment zooming Springwards for a nibble. The first million have already arrived and eaten their first course ... ME again.

It's not as if the menu lacks choice. My garden has been strewn this week with two meaty sons, son-in-law, their partners and me. So guess who had to leave the party every ten minutes to slap on another layer of anti-histamine cream? All of us women.

The blokes just lay there spread-eagled on the grass, completely ignored by everything creepy, crawly or flittering about. Wasps, bees, a ferocious-looking hornet, flying ants and quite possibly fleas didn't even bother to waste their time landing: instead they hovered over our delicate female flesh then swooped down for a picnic before taking off in speedy clouds to tell another million friends and relations.

Mind you, I'm used to it now so usually have a good stock of creams, lotions, pills and the odd natural repellent such as folded-up newspaper, wet tea towel or fish slice. Nothing works. And please don't recommend any kind of spray-on stuff because I've tried them all and all of them do nothing but stop whatever it is that's landed from taking off again. To be honest I think they regard whatever it is as a garnish.

Perhaps I shouldn't grumble: I only have to think about Australia - 46 degrees in the shade (when we could find some) for almost three weeks and every mosquito in the southern hemisphere came out to play in our garden.

Aussie mozzie motto being 'look after our own and mutilate everybody else'. Husband, being one of their own would sit blissfully sipping his amber nectar oblivious (or pretending to be) to squadrons of mosquitoes rocketing towards his tenderskinned English wife. Mozzies must be the fastest fliers hell created. Like microscopic missiles so fast you can't hear them coming, but my word you know when they've been. First the itch, then the pain, then burning itchy pain and in my case, enormous throbbing swelling. Twenty-five years later I still bear scars.

I'm like a flower. I attract anything with wings and teeth. That said, not always with teeth. A giant whirring blowfly is on holiday in my bedroom this week. Whether he sleeps all day or goes sightseeing I have no idea, but I do know at 11.30pm he is not tired.

Surprisingly I actually like insects. They're beautifully designed and remarkably clever. Which I suppose is why they have such a discerning palate.

I just wish they'd be adventurous and chew a chap occasionally - he might be quite tasty.