8th July - Repugnant Infestations!!

Oh my blood is boiling.

I am seething.

Now, I'm a reasonable person. (most of the time.) I can tolerate lots of things. With regards to thge insect population, I can tolerate the ants nest that has sprung up on our 'patio'. (substitute the word 'patio' for 'concrete rubbly mess, more accurate description.) I can tolerate the large hairy spider that is currently residing fatly under our washing machine, and scuttles out every time I wash the floor. I can even tolerate the pesky little midges that seem to float into our house with gay abandon and congregate round the dustbin.

But I cannot tolerate this. This is a bridge too far.

THE ATTACK OF THE FLIES.

I'm not talking just the one or two flies here. I'm not even talking about Mr and Mrs Fly and their children, or even extended family. I'm talking about a whole cosmopolitan metropolis of the gits.

I came in yesterday from Exeter to a strange buzzing from the kitchen. I didn't think much of it - this house often makes rather unusual noises and I tend not to like to dwell too much upon them.
But my laissez faire attitude swiftly changed to abject horror when I realised what the source of the noise was...a swarm of big bristly flies all over the kitchen, sitting on the sink, hovering impudently around the window, chilling out on D's highchair...there were literally about twenty of them.

Imagine then, if you will, my further horror when I enter the bathroom (which is just behind the kitchen) to discover about 50 of the buggers. All sitting arrogantly on the bath, flitting smugly round the window pane, whisking slyly past my head as I entered.

This is when I ceased to be just plain old Mrs B. Suburban Mama disappeared for a while. Like Clark Kent, like Peter Parker, my normal persona vanished, and in its place was LUCY - FLY DESTROYER, NEMESIS OF THE FLY.

I wielded my copy of Reveal like a dangerous sword, felling flies with every enraged swoop. Pretty soon, the house had become a veritable cemetary of pathetic fly corpses, all lying on the surfaces with their little legs stuck sadly into the air. I was like a woman possessed, hurtling through the house with my magazine brandished high above my head, screaming bloody murder and threatening the remaining stragglers with the most obscenely violent demises.

D thought it was hilarious. He kept pointing at me as if to say 'look! look! Mummy's gone mad!'

And indeed I had.

And still the B*STARDS come! It's somewhere in the bathroom that they are making their entry. We thought that it was the big hole in the ceiling that the architect 'nibbled' out (his word, not ours) the other day. But nope, not there. We sealed that one. (with the back page of said Reveal magazine mentioned previously.) We can only presume the sneaky, dirty little sods are creeping up through the plug hole. I am officially mortified and repulsed. In fact, just a few seconds ago, it was an all out fight between myself and a particularly large plump raisin of a fly, who refused to die, even after being swiped with a magazine (Company this time.), flushed down the toilet, then flattened against the bowl with a piece of tissue. It really doesn't help that flies are also exceptionally tenacious.

Vile. Vile vile vile.

I am a peeved suburban mama.