I have become quite attached to the flying ants crawling over the sheets on my bedroom floor. I notice how they all cling to the cotton when I lift it up. I scrape off their sticky gel, a precious life giving substance, and carefully store it in some lace. Penny is a bit shocked at what I am doing. "The place will be swarming with ants, you should get rid of them," she says, "They can get really nasty, a swarm of ants." I am a bit hurt that she should want me to destroy the fluid but concede that she is probably right. Everything will have to be bleached.