5 June

The Welcome Centre was built overnight, and it now announces my arrival to the entire fly and mosquito population of Mont Tremblant National Park.

They proceed to follow me around all day, taking nips and bites every time I hesitate, or stop somewhere to stare at the irrational nature in front of me, or go down the wrong path (an all-too-frequent habit of mine).

The wildflowers which are hanging out around the jumbled tree roots and misplaced rocks are enjoying this way more than I am.

I feel like I’m trekking through a deep mountainside forest which is looking down on me – smirking, giggling.

Those people sauntering along in full nuclear outfits were a warning. Even the birds have flown off.

The park has been won, and not by me.

I can only just about appreciate and enjoy the enormity of the panoramic lookout views over the glacial vallies and deep-blue lakes and the vast Mont Tremblant highlands – smothered in an infinite woodland blanket, naturally – while being bitten repeatedly.

The heat of the day and the increasingly steep trails bring me out in endless sweats, compounding my daylight discomfort.

While being continually attacked by the local bugs and mites … and all of their mates, their mates-of-mates, work colleagues, immediate family, former work colleagues, college buddies, the whole sports team, flatmates, ex-flatmates, long-distance relatives, distant relatives they’ve never previously met, cousins half-removed, cousins fully removed, school friends they liked, school friends they pretended to like, all of their bosses past and present, hangers-on, chancers and thieves, social media friends … while all of these motley types are liberally assaulting me, besieging my enjoyment, I’m covered in a growing film of perspiration, and repeatedly berating myself for not having brought along any goddamn insect repellant.

Talk about stirring up the hornet’s nest.

At dusk, my cabin in the woods becomes an isolation zone, with zero connectivity and only a little soul.

It’s all a flying nightmare I can only begin to understand and comprehend with my Darling, a canned beer.

I look out of the skylight periodically.