Technology has been letting me down left, right and centre… losing work to crashing computers, locked out of various sites for no reason I can find…phone running slower than a little old lady in traffic and the back-up laptop refusing to cooperate. Everything is taking far longer than it should and I am finding it increasingly frustrating. So a deep breath is in order before I roll my sleeves up and sort things out.
So, I’m off on my travels… northwards for the monthly meeting and a short break over the weekend. I know it hasn’t been long since I was last there, with the workshop and all, but since coming back the days have blended one into another. Most days I don’t even know what day it is any more and the nights are both short and wakeful or short and I’m sleeping like a dead thing. Which might explain it, I suppose…
Now, before I go, I like to make sure things are organised. You know, housewifely stuff. So … I wake to a room full of flies. Not the small ones either… but the great big bluebottles that lumber round, just too quickly to do anything about them.
Nor are we looking at the odd, illegal immigrant that takes up temporary residence and who, after a day or two, learns to answer to the name of Fuckov. I’m not even talking two or three either. That, you might consider normal as the temperature rises.
No, we are talking twenty or so of the big buggers, all crawling across my net curtains, with more on every window of the house, except, for some strange reason, the living room.
And it happens every year.
The first time, I panicked. The house, being full of teenagers at that point, was a minefield of possibility, with who knows what lurking under beds and in those nether regions where odd socks go to die. Armed with a black bag, a supply od valium and full haz-chem gear, I tackled the boys’ bedrooms, like it or not.
Nothing. Well, no, that’s not strictly true… there were plenty of things. Many I don’t even want to think about. But nothing that justified a plague of biblical proportions. It had to be the attic. A dead bird maybe? It would have to be the size of a flamingo for all those flies, but… Tying back my hair to keep the spiders out, I climbed the ladder.
No, nothing there either. The chimney was still in use, so there was no way anything could be dead in there… and the guttering was cleared. It was a mystery. They had to be coming from somewhere.
Of course, I like open windows… maybe they were just coming in? I cleared them all out and closed the windows and doors. No sign… mystery solved…
Except, next morning, they were back.
I had a week of that. I cleaned and cleared every nook and cranny… and found no trace of their origins. To be fair, for that quantity, you’d need more than a mouldy burger forgotten under a teenage bed… you’d need a whole corpse. And every year since then, there has been a short, unpleasant period of battling with flies, ushering them out the window to go and fulfil their purpose as Nature’s disposal team.
And when do they show up this year? Yep.. just as I am going to be away… Typical!