Co-habiting with a lot of insects and creepy-crawlies is a fact of life in the tropics, even up here in Addis at a height of 2,300 metres. Judging by our comparative bug-bite number, I’m a tastier morsel than Chris as far as mosquitoes are concerned, and it is one such evil black mosquito that’s currently “zizzing” around my left ear in the middle of the night.

I jump up, flapping my arms to shoo the beastie away. It’s 3am, Chris is sleeping peacefully and I’m now on another night-time mozzie hunt – there’s no sleeping when there’s a bug about with venepuncture on its mind. I grab the torch and the unfinished book on the night stand (there’s always an unfinished book on the night stand) and start the hunt. Luckily our walls are a pale colour and I soon locate the target – sitting on the wall just above Chris’s head. As I am about to whack it with the unfinished book Chris stirs and off flies the mozzie. “What are you doing?” she asks, blearily. “Mozzie!” I whisper (in case it can hear me); “go to sleep.” A few minutes of hunting later I relocate my quarry – it’s on the ceiling now. So standing precariously on tiptoe on the bed, book in hand I stretch up: whack! I’ve won. I’ll clear up the ex-mozzie in the morning.

A long time ago, in hospital accommodation far, far away, a small boy called James picked up a wood louse. It was in my junior doctor days, James was about 2 years old, and the old Victorian terraced house the hospital had given us to live in was infested with wood lice. Chris and I were in the habit of seeing them and saying, “Oh no there’s more!” - so James had learned these creatures were called “more”. He held up the louse. “More!” he announced, triumphantly. Looking at his prize intently he brought his two hands together, there was a faint ‘click’, and “two!” he exclaimed, as he held up half a wood louse in each hand.

After my night-time triumph over the mosquito I think of this event as I get out of bed and avoid the wood louse making its way across the bedroom floor. Chris will shower while I sort out breakfast. I go (or perhaps, more accurately, stumble) to the kitchen sink to rinse out the teapot and coffee jug, and there in the sink are 22 wood lice. (We have no idea how they get in the sink; the other evening I washed up, and within ten minutes of finishing and cleaning it out there are two wood lice in the washing up bowl.) I go to the bathroom and wash away the three wood lice that have managed to survive in the bathtub while Chris showered. There’s one more on the bath mat, and as I shower I watch as another explores the top of the wall above the bath near the ceiling. The final two I dispose of this morning are in the sink as I brush my teeth.

It was the mid-semester break last week, providing an opportunity to go off with a couple of friends to a place by Lake Langano, 200 km or so south of Addis in the great rift valley. “Sabana Beach Resort” is a collection of small bungalows on the shores of the lake along with a lovely circular restaurant open to the elements through a central atrium allowing the prolific bird life to come in and join diners at their tables. Despite insect repellent, long sleeves, a can of insect spray and a plug-in night-time thingy that’s supposed to kill bugs, we both garnered a collection of bites. However, none of that was any use against the two large spiders cohabiting the bedroom with us for two nights.

My on-going attempts to avoid developing a bird-watching hobby took a bit of a knock as I spent a peaceful afternoon trying to photograph some. It’s amazingly difficult to ignore the birds when visiting Langano.

A long time ago, in a city far, far away, Murray and Annie were rejoicing over the safe arrival of Ruth, their second daughter. In 1992 our departure from Bristol to move to St Albans was not an easy time, especially as we had to say goodbye to such good friends as Murray and Annie. Ruth grew up, married Such from Sri Lanka, moved to Toronto, and recently won a textile design competition - the prize for which was to spend six weeks in Addis Ababa doing some product development work at Sabahar, an Ethiopian fabric weaving business.

The first and greatest co-incidence that’s happened to us since we arrived here was to be able to buy our Ford Ranger pick-up from Dave, who 38 years ago this week was an usher at our wedding. The second was the opportunity to meet up with Ruth for the first time since she was a small baby in Bristol 26 years ago. She came for a meal last night, and showed us round Sabahar this morning including some amazing hand-weaving and some lovely products that she has designed. The silk worms were younger and smaller than last time, and by far the least troublesome of all the creepy-crawlies we’ve interacted with recently.

Now, is that a wood louse over there on the draining board?