As is usual this time of year, wasps are becoming a nuisance. Their reproduction cycle over already, they have no idea what to do with themselves. As I sit on the hotel terrace, I am saving one wasp after another from my glasses and bottles. All drinks attract them. Wine is as attractive as is beer, or so it appears, but wine bottles are much more difficult to get out of than beer bottles. They try and try, but they cannot figure out how to get out of a bottle. If there is some wine or beer in it still, one can pour it into a glass, and then fetch the wasp out with a napkin. If the bottle is empty already, the only trick is to put it flat on the table. Sooner or later, the wasp crawls out. But I can easily imagine the wasp hell. It is a bottle. The walls are slippery and the bottom is wet. The wasp can see the world outside, but it cannot reach it. The choice is either flying or drowning. But the neck of the bottle is almost impossible to reach, and drowning seems to be the only viable option after a while. The few wasps that are saved by sentimental humans of my kind can tell all the others exactly how hell looks and feels. Or that is my sincere hope, so that they stop falling into my drinks and drowning in front of my eyes.