Bite me, why don’t you just not

Mosquitos are as much part of summer in the South of France as rosé, Ricard and pétanque. This weekend, I share my secret to tackling bites, plus a gorgeous recipe for Navarin of lamb.

I don’t normally put a picture of the recipe right at the top of the piece, but I honestly can’t inflict pictures of mosquitos on you.

Move to France, they said, three hundred days of sunshine a year they said, live a more natural life, embrace la belle vie. I haven’t questioned for a moment our decision to move here, but sometimes you can have enough of visitors, especially ones who bite you, keep you awake at night and leave you with unpleasant rashes in the morning.

I would say relax, I’m only talking about mosquitos, but no, don’t relax, you can’t afford a moment’s lapse in vigilance unless you want to serve as a walking tasting menu for these most loathed of insects (though I would also like to offer a highly commended to bed bugs and clothes moths in this hit parade of horror).

We live on the water. This spring has been damp, then sunny, then damp again. There are marshes on the edge of the village. It’s the perfect environment for the loathsome little suckers. There’s even an area on the edge of the village called Maldormir, poor sleep, so called, my friend assures me, because it’s the perfect habitat for mosquitos so the residents barely get a wink of sleep.

It used to be easier in the olden days when local councils were happy to slosh chemicals from planes like winning Formula I drivers with champagne. Now, the laws on spraying are much stricter, due to the chemicals they used being just a touch cancer-y. Despite this, there are those on our village Facebook group who lament those good old days seasoned with toxic chemicals and would like them back, please, to hell with the consequences. Some, however, embrace our proboscis-wielding overlords. One of my favourite commenters told someone complaining about them that they should just move to Dunkirk, where they mosquitos are less of a problem.

Every summer, there are stories in the local and national papers about the likelihood of mosquitos infecting you with malaria or the Zika virus in mainland France. I liked it better when the stuck to hours of sunlight and tide times. The pharmacy is plastered with posters of the especially malevolent tiger mosquito, which doesn’t even have the good manners to make any kind of alerting noise. The town hall website spends the time it’s saved spraying the village with chemicals to send out helpful emails instructing you to be very vigilant about any standing water. Plant saucers and buckets should be scrutinised hourly for larvae. In the garden centre, there are whole sections of plants – various mints, lavenders, geraniums, thymes and rosemaries – that are supposed to deter mosquitos but which, frankly, the mosquitos in my garden seem to view much in the way I might a sprinkling of parsley or tarragon to finish a dish. The DIY shop also sells anti-mosquito machines which are so expensive, you could probably give them a miss and spend the money you saved on buying an actual house in Dunkirk.

The internet is full of people telling you they have the answer. These people, with their lemons stuck with cloves and burning coffee grounds, have read too much Harry Potter.

I am grateful every day for the heroic work of all the dragonflies, swifts, swallows, house martins and bats who swoop around the house eating these satanic pests. But it’s not enough.

For a while, I was swayed by the rumour that Avon’s Skin So Soft was used by the American forces to deter mosquitos when they were on deployment. There is, however, no evidence to support this and if anyone would like to try it, you are very welcome to the not-very-nice-smelling spray oil I stockpiled in a moment of uncharacteristic efficiency.

Now, I simply rely on citronella wrist bands and having the strongest mosquito spray money can buy by every door and tucked into my gardening basket. When the inevitable happens – because my blood is delicious – I am utterly devoted to the Bite Away heat pen for removing the itch. It has a tiny ceramic plate at the top which burns like a hot iron and the heat denatures the protein that creates the itch. It works in the same way as the homemade trick of heating up a teaspoon in boiling water and pressing it on the bite, but with the pen it holds the plate at 55C for the – admittedly agonising, be brave, little soldier – three to five seconds it takes to work. They’re inexpensive, work instantly, are safe to use on children, and each one can be used up to 300 times before you need to change the batteries. The Bite Away zapper is as essential to my summer now as rosé, straw hats and loose linen.

NB I am not in the pocket of Big Bite Away. I buy them myself. I just wanted to pass on one of my very best summer-saving tips. Wishing you itch-free days and peaceful nights.

The summer-saving bug bite zapper. Available from good pharmacies, and here.

What I’m listening to…

I’m hugely grateful to Elfreda Pownall for mentioning this terrific podcast, Garlic and Pearls , on Instagram. English former diplomat and present-day academic, Suzanne Raine, and French writer and broadcaster, Muriel Zagha, share odd, funny, fascinating details about what makes the British so British and the French so French – from bungalows and savon de Marseille, to Johnny Hallyday, oysters, Surrealism, Harris tweed, toast, absinthe, rescue puppies, concierges, marmalade and Christmas crackers. I was so thrilled by it, I listened to six episodes on the trot while I was gardening yesterday. Out every Friday, and we have eighteen-months of podcasts to catch up on, so chop chop.

Also, PS, do follow @elfredapownell on Instagram too. She is one of our foremost interior and garden writers and her account is a delight if you’re interested in food, gardens, houses and English style, which of course you are.

Navarin d’agneau printanier

Casserole of spring lamb

This is just such a delight, for those spring days when you want something more sustaining than a salad but you’re not in the market for a mediaeval merchant rib sticker of a stew. Use all the spring vegetables you can – on other occasions, I’ve added tiny new potatoes, asparagus, broad beans, and pearl onions. This time, I didn’t add potatoes, as I wanted to serve them alongside the navarin, and I didn’t use pearl onions as I couldn’t find any and didn’t have time to race to Picard so I used whole, small shallots instead.

I use shoulder of lamb, which I buy boned and cut into cubes myself, as I don’t like the small pieces you often get if you buy it precut. You could use neck, or as Jacques Pépin does, unboned lamb breast (his mother’s recipe, of course). Trim it of excess fat, but don’t go mad - leave a bit on though, for god’s sake, we’re not influencers.

Serve it with new potatoes, as I did, or mash, or rice, or on its own, simply with some baguette, pour saucer.