Holiday from hell

I can still feel them crawling over my skin…

Packing my suitcase, I checked things off my list. Passport, flip-flops, mosquito repellent.

It was October last year, I was about to jet off to Majorca with a friend.

And I didn’t want any nasty bites ruining my holiday!

I’d spotted an offer with website Hot Deal Holidays.

A week at a hotel in the small resort of El Arenal for £588.

Bargain!

‘Let’s do it,’ my mate grinned. Settling into our hotel room, we couldn’t wait for some autumn sunshine.

Only, next morning, I woke up with a bite on my hand.

‘Bloomin’ mossies,’ I said, starting to itch.

I assumed one had found a gap in my repellent.

But, on the second morning, I had 20 bites.

What the..?

Slathering myself in aloe vera, I tried not to let it ruin my sunbathing.

Only, by the third morning I awoke covered in many more angry red bites. My mate had none. ‘What are they?’ I cried, horrified.

They were itchy and painful.

The local chemist gave me cream and antihistamine tablets, but I couldn’t understand it.

My arms, body and tops of my legs were swarming with these bites.

If I scratched them, they’d bleed.

After a while, they began to blister. Utter agony. I was mortified, wouldn’t leave the hotel, missed out on sightseeing. My bum was covered with so many bites, I could hardly sit down. So I’d just lay by the pool in my cossie, embarrassed. ‘People keep staring at me,’ I whispered to my pal, distraught. But covering up wasn’t an option, either. Clothes irritated the bites, knocked the scabs off, and the material would then stick to the sores. Gross. Still, I was baffled. What was biting me? And I only seemed to be bitten at night. Until, the fifth morning, making my bed I noticed blood spots on the sheets. Lifting up the bottom sheet on the mattress… ‘Argh,’ I yelped, leaping back. A tiny brown bug scuttled across the surface. Bedbugs! ‘Quick, catch it,’ my friend shouted, appalled. Grabbing one of those transparent bags used to transport liquids through airports, I scooped up the bug, zip-locked it inside. Furious, I marched to the front desk, demanded to speak to the manager. ‘You have bedbugs,’ I told him, waving the bag, At first, he just grabbed the bag and chucked it in the nearest bin. But when I showed him my red-raw bites, he moved us to a different room, called a doctor. ‘They’re definitely bedbug bites,’ the doctor confirmed, checking me over thoroughly. She prescribed steroids and antibiotics, as the

If I scratched them, they’d bleed. Then they began to blister

bites had got infected.

My mate discovered a few bites, too, only I’d had an allergic reaction.

‘I want to go home,’ I sobbed.

But it was too expensive to change my flight at such short notice.

The staff washed our clothes, but I couldn’t be sure the entire hotel wasn’t affected.

The last two days of my holiday were utterly miserable.

‘I feel dirty and infested,’ I wept.

Not to mention the pain and unimaginable itching all the time.

Instead of a golden tan, I was covered in red, blotchy sores.

I couldn’t wait to

Aget home, but the flight back was hell. Every uncomfortable second of it. Back in Wales, I didn’t dare bring the suitcase inside in case the bugs had hitched a ride. So I chucked it in the garage, later burned the whole thing in my garden with all my holiday clothes still inside. My mate did the same with her suitcase. My doctor prescribed more cream, antihistamines. But I was paranoid the disgusting critters had laid eggs on me. Snuck in my house. I didn’t dare sleep. When I did, I had recurring nightmares about blood-sucking creepy crawlies. Angry at my ordeal, I contacted a solicitor, who’s now taking legal action against Hot Deal Holidays on my behalf. The bites were swollen and blistered for months – shopping, gardening and driving were impossible due to the severe pain. I still have scars. And I’m so paranoid, I boil-wash everything. It turned out to be the holiday from hell. I’m certainly not itching to go back!