Saturday, 18 July 2009

Flee Flea.

If there's one thing about warm weather that creeps me out it's the abundance of flies that suddenly appear. From small midge-like ones to the fat bluebottle, I hate them all. I mean what is it with them? They have the whole outdoors to do their dirty thing on so why invade my space? If they're not doing horrible things in the dog's food bowl, they're bashing their brains against the window pane or buzzing manically around my ceiling light.

Seems the only way to thwart them is to close all doors and windows or fit screens like I've seen in every American movie I've watched. That and to invest in industrial sized cans of fly killer.

Soon as I here the sound of fly hitting window pane I'm under the kitchen sink looking out the spray. The one I use is formulated especially for food premises and boy, is it fast. One spray and they drop like...well, like flies! From flight to stone dead in seconds. None of that noisy spinning on their back under the TV stand/behind the kettle nonsense! Don't you just hate that?

Why am I discussing the life and times of the bluebottle on here? Well, I'm writing a short story set in the fifties and needed to know when those sticky, ribbon fly papers were around. You remember the ones. My grandmother always had them pinned to the ceiling in her sitting room and kitchen. Used to give me the heebie-jeebies even as a child. Dozens of those little black bodies stuck fast, legs thrashing about till they gave up the fight and died. Eugh! My cousin, Colin, who was a bit older than me, used to wait till the adults were out of the room, then pull one off the ceiling and chase me with it.

I seem to recall that someone's budgie got stuck fast on the fly paper and had to have it's feathers trimmed to release it but I'm not sure whether that's true or not.

Oh, and remember the sweet mincemeat shortbread served up on school dinners? Dead fly pie the boys would chant. No wonder I can't look at a Garibaldi without shivering.

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