Manage to pick up a number of new friends on the trail, or to be perfectly accurate – negotiating a storm swollen river whilst trying to keep my pack lofted out of the water. Their discovery comes in the mountain hut when I’m pulling off my boots and trying to figure out why my socks are soaked in blood. Leeches are messy little buggers once they’ve had their fill – the bore hole continues to gush red goo for a minute or so after detachment. In a sense the blood is a positive sign that the gorging is complete and l’d imagine significantly less painful than having your teat sucked by a hungry youngling. Spend 10 minutes checking remaining clothing for wayward specimens. If they’re still there – how long before they reattach for seconds?

There’s something hypnotic about discovering you’ve made new parasitic friends, something that overcomes the basic instinct to recoil and react. I’d put it on a par with a ring side seat to a scalpel slicing through your own flesh. Or for the more pro-active the temptation of putting a hand into moving machinery.

Thought for today as a sound of rain hitting the forest canopy sends me to sleep – is fresh fried plump leech the culinary equivilent of incest?