F l i e s . . . . . . . . .

bother me.

Although they hardly rank in the front row of God’s creation, and would have been quite difficult to spot in the Ark, they are apparently important with life-giving qualities and none of us would be here now to dance our digits on a keyboard without them . . . (like I haven’t already spent enough years wondering about that bloody butterfly in the Philippines) . Flies are really important.

Apparently.

But when I’m at work or home and concentrating on something with my concentration face securely tied on they buzz so insouciantly ! They investigate my hair gel and ear wax. They invade my book’s pages or monitor with that attitude that says ‘go on then if one thinks one is hard enough . . . . .. . . ‘

+ one is loath to think one is.

So you have to try, you have to do something, to stand up for yourself, your family and most of western civilisation. You need your full attention when you have your concentration face on don’t you ? It’s either summer or the builders have left that loft door open.

I think.

So this is why I carry 5 (five) cans of furniture polish on my person at all times. Forget that Fly Spray rubbish which is just glorified air-freshener pretending to be Rambo. Flies laugh at us mortals trying to mystify them with that sh1t, they have their own classic stand-up comedy routines based on fly-spray as they meet for a lampshade laugh on a Friday night.

Bastads.

But furniture polish works, works really well. It must be something to do with the spray which is slow enough to allow some of the bastads to get slightly smothered, but will retard the kunts enough to ensure complete annihilation on the second round of finger action. Took me and Ray Mears decades to learn these survival skills.

Ha !

This is when you watch them struggle, land-locked, with tiny wings flapping slowly in a froth of white polish. You feel triumphant, like Ronald Reagan wearing a WWF mask and hilariously mis-cuing his speech before the cameras roll. You look at your kids and smile serenely, knowing all is right in the world, pooh fookin bear is in his heaven and all the creepy crawlies cannot invade, because they’re aware of modern house-building standards. Brilliant, all my flies are now undone.

8)

I’ll never make a perfect Buddhist. I did try, and used to sweep the ground of ants before me, but the queues on the M4 were horrendous.

So will always be a mere human being, and forever reminded of that humble fact when the next fly mockingly appears, seconds later, to torment my life.

.