I hate flies. Not so much the rest of the year, although they are dirty little fuckers I really don’t like hanging out with, but this time of the year i really hate them. And pity them. Someone has told them that a good place to hang out for the winter is my flat, so they drop in – coming through the extractor-fans we suspect – and congregate in the toilet. Now the toilet is not a large room, and having a dozen fat bluebottles brrrmm-ing past your ear while you brush your teeth is not nice. I can feel my scalp itching afterward, like they dropped tiny pieces of disgusting things in my hair as they dived past.
The end result: death on a grand scale. I put a fly-paper up in there, so now when I am brushing my teeth i can gaze at 30 dead or dying flies stuck to the gently twirling paper by their wings, eyes, legs, whatever. It looks worse if they’re still twitching, somehow. That’s when I can almost feel pity for them, stuck to this fly-paper by their face and two of their legs with no hope of ever coming unstuck; doomed.
I would take it down and dispose of it, but i suspect there are more coming this week as the weather starts to get really cold.