I have to pull down my trousers in order to garner any sympathy.
"Look! See? It's ma-hoo-sive!"
"That's not a bee-sting, that's a helicopter launch pad."
"It is a ruddy bee-sting."
"Way, I pulled the bastard off there myself. A honeybee no less. Not so sweet."
We are staring at an enormous angry red raised patch of skin on my leg, which measures about 15cm square.
"Nah, can't be from a bee."
"Something else must have bitten you."
"It is from a bee. Can I have some sympathy now?"
"Yeah, it looks nasty."
"You're just lucky I didn't go all anaph...anypho...anil..."
"You know what I mean. That thing where you swell up like the fat chick in Willy Wonka only your throat closes over and you can't breathe, and you woulda had to slash open my throat with a broken pen just to get some air in. Yeah, lucky that didn't happen. Seeing as we don't even have pens in this godforsaken place."