I think it was a wasp. It certainly felt like a wasp. I was bombing along, minding my own business on the return commute along the water, when all of a sudden there was a stabbing pain on the underneath of my thigh. It felt like someone had inserted a needle into the flesh and was in the process of injecting some hot oil into the muscle.
Dramatic? I think not! That bloody hurt. I also suffer from the nervous disposition that puts one on high alert when you think you may still have a stinging insect flying around in your shorts. I slowed down as rapidly as possible and pulled over, somehow not coming to grief on the grass. After dismounting I proceeded to dance about like a complete twit (echoes of Monty Python in my head) and eventually saw no option but to pull down my shorts, relieved that I had decided that going commando was not an option on the bike, and check every crevasse carefully incase the wasp in question was only injured and bent on revenge.
I found nothing, and for a second I wondered whether I had imagined the whole experience. Fortunately the discovery of a red dot surrounded by some mild swelling confirmed the presence of the attacker and I felt a little less stupid. The lesson from today? When riding with seriously baggy shorts, be prepared to get stung, or tie the ends up with gaffer tape!