Yesterday was a pretty normal day for the beginning of January, dull, cold and very, very, windy. At 11.50pm I was in the bathroom getting ready for bed.

I’d just finished cleaning my teeth and had placed my brush back in its mug. I should point out at this stage that I was quite tired, and having had my usual night-cap of a glass of port, wasn’t at my sparkling best.

Suddenly, out of nowhere something that seemed quite large flew at my head. I tried to brush it away, but it kept on coming. I began to retreat to the bathroom door, but the thing kept on flying at my head and it was buzzing.

I’m not given to hysterics, but I actually screamed out loud, not that it did any good, as Peter who was downstairs watching TV, never heard a thing!

The whole thing probably lasted no more than a few seconds, and when things calmed down there was a huge wasp in the middle of the bathroom floor. Where on earth had he come from?

I placed a glass over him so I knew where he was and to stop either of us treading on him with bare feet during the night, because at that point I was going to leave him there until morning.

Then I got thinking. I knew if I did that he would be dead by the time I got up. So at around midnight I got out of bed, scooped him up into the glass to take him outside.

On reflection, given my ‘mellow’ state and the fact that it was pitch dark and blowing a gale, this might not have been my best decision ever, but as luck would have it all went well.

He may not have survived the night coming as he did from our warm bathroom to a force 9 gale, but at least I’d given him a chance.

So there we are, proof yet again, that the old softie in me is alive and well in 2012.