Legendary protest singer Woody Guthrie had the slogan ‘This Machine Kills Fascists’ emblazoned across his guitar. The lead singer of John Peel’s beloved Half Man Half Biscuit had ‘This Machine Kills Wasps’ across his. Fascists and wasps. Equally hated and despised. But while one are a bunch of loathsome invertebrates that should be slapped every time they start to agitate us, I have to confess I have some empathy towards the wasps.

The wasps’ world was created way back in April. A single pregnant queen emerged from her winter-long hibernation, flew, fed and founded a new colony. She single-handedly constructed 30 hexagonal homes from chewed-up wood, laid an egg in each and lovingly tended to her new babies which, when grown, became her workers. Through sheer determination, spit and sawdust they enlarged the colony, constructing an impressive suspended structure. Other workers collected food – caterpillars, flies, spiders – to feed the now-flightless Queen as she produced more eggs.

June was the golden age of the Empire. The colony swelled to almost 6000 wasps. There was a real buzz about the place. An entire self-contained Utopian society in matching yellow and black uniforms working together to serve their illustrious leader. Inside the dome, the temperature was maintained at 32 degrees. When the temperature rose on hot days, the workers united and the whole colony whirred their wings creating a community-powered air-conditioning unit.

But dark rumours started. The Queen was becoming crazy for power. Workers’ eggs were being destroyed to ensure only the Queen’s offspring were raised. She had started to create other Queens in her image. With no more workers being born, work levels in the colony increased. The wasps were slaves to a tyrant.

Then came the news. The Queen is dead. Her mesmeric hold over every wasp was lost. Revolution! The virgin Queens fled to mate, hibernate and start a new colony next year.

Meanwhile the colony falls into anarchy. Paper walls are torn down, the temperature plummets. Rome burns. There is fighting and cannibalism. Those that stay face death from cold and starvation. One wasp manages to escape. Alone, betrayed by his leader, without family, without purpose he is confused and lost in an unfamiliar world. Like so many he turns to alcohol to quieten his pain and the fermented fallen fruits of Autumn provide temporary relief. Intoxicated and hungry he stumbles around searching for sugar.