Love my leeches

So, Rick and I went for a walk through the rainforest. Only a short walk as the sun set. We walked back along the river, and got back to the cottage.

"Right" said Rick. "Let's check for leeches." He smiled a sour smile. He'd picked one up a couple of days before, and had proudly burned it off his leg.

We both laughed at the absurdity of having leeches. And then I pulled up my trouser leg and squealed like a greased gerbil.

Both of us had anklets of leeches, hanging off like swollen bling.

The measure of a true friend is what they'll do for you. I've had friends who'll buy me supper, or sleep with me in a crisis. But Rick is possibly the only friend I have who'll spend a patient half hour burning leeches off my legs.

They were vile little buggers, who just wouldn't die, but flopped around on the porch, pointing themselves hungrily towards us.

We then combed through our trainers, which were full of them. I burned my socks.