Day of the Nettles

The Real Edward Wells has on 3 occasions poorly identified objects leading to crippling embarrassment, and one time pain. The first was selecting the wrong Beef and tomato Pot Noodle as opposed to a Barbeque, from a Spar Delicatessen on the 22nd September 1999 aprox. 1523hrs, the Second was incorrectly identifying a Spitfire Mk II and a Spitfire Mk I (The Coffman Starter was not visible due to the viewing angle), and the third incorrectly identifying stinging nettles as ferns one day back in the summer of 1998.

The Real Edward Wells and I were off trekking over the acre, a small hill where we lived, armed with an air rifle one hazy summers afternoon. We were low on pellets, so it meant we were required to collect shot ones if possible and ration those we had. Walking along the disused rail track we decided it was possibly a good idea to climb the hill and look for flora and fauna to shoot. After several hours and near 60 rounds later, we had only hit inanimate objects and our ammunition was depleted, so we left.

Now the Acre itself has many escape routes, beaten tracks and obvious paths, yet for some reason we found ourselves heading towards a fence over which was a pretty steep unscalable drop. Peering over the edge, Edward identified the foliage as ferns and that we could take this shortcut home and save a clear 5 minutes! It seemed to good to be true, hence it was.

Now it is important to note that being the Summer, and a particularly nice one at that, we were both wearing shorts and T-Shirts, most likely covered in stains and small holes from the days walking.

As we entered the foliage it became apparent very quickly, that the near half Acre of ground we now need cover was not ferns. Stinging nettles as far as the eye can see. Legs already tingling we paused to assess the situation. We couldn’t go back, we couldn’t beat down the nettles and there was only one way out. So we pressed on.

The sensation of being stung multiple times by nettles in the same spot peaks and troughs. The first sting is like an itchy pain that will go if you don’t aggravate it. The tenth time is where the sting has begun to feel like pins and needles but over a much larger area than normal. When you approach the 30s-40s of stings in the same area, the pain is excruciating. The swelling alone inflates the legs until the skin is tight and coupled with the lacerations from thorns the agony is unbearable. So we hobbled and limped through the killing field until we reached the barb-wire fence encircling us. Lifting our legs alone was like they were buried in sand, the poison coursing through our skins and snagging my shorts on the barb-wire, I now had a fetching tare to complement my purple and bloodied legs. Edward plodded on valiantly, no doubt still proud of his short cut.

Arriving home almost an hour late we were greeted by Eds mum Lesley, who unsurprisedidly, didn’t look surprised. “What have you pair done now?” Was all we were greeted by.

The next day was spent recovering, mentally. I still wince when I see stinging nettles to this day.