The Incident of the Fly in the Night

Our house is incredibly quiet at night, but the disadvantage is that it makes you hyper-aware of the smallest sounds. I once became aware of a tiny rhythmic rustling noise and eventually realised it was my heartbeat disturbing the feathers of the duvet! But tonight there’s nothing but the click of my Kindle and Tom snoring gently as he drifts off to sleep. Investing in a Kandle (pricey, but so superior to those stalky lights that wobble about and poke you in the face) has even put an end to the ‘when are you going to turn the light out?’ debate and has made my love of reading in bed more comfortable for both of us. 

I’ve just finished a chapter of a childhood favourite, The Little Grey Men, by BB reissued as an ebook, and now that I know Baldmoney, Sneezewort and Dodder are tucked up and safe, I feel lovely and cosy and decide to settle down too. I have barely fallen asleep when there is a moan of protest beside me. A gnat has decided to take a bite out of Tom. I’m largely untroubled by insect bites due, I’ve decided, to my Rhesus negative blood, but Tom reacts so badly to them that recently he could barely bend his elbows they were so swollen. On a mission, Tom switches on his bedside light, looking for some After Bite, but instead sends a large glass of water flying.

After a huge mopping-up operation, we become aware of a new sound. A fly has entered the fray. We keep very still, trying to locate it, but the fly torments us wheeling round our heads, landing briefly and spiralling off again. Tom grabs a tee shirt and flaps wildly at the air. At this rate we’re going to have a second glass of water drama! I decide to go for chemical weapons and dig out an ancient tin of fly spray. Unfortunately my aim’s a bit off and I liberally spray my pillow by mistake. All the lights are now blazing, we’re both wide awake and the fly refuses to be caught. It’s also very hot so neither of us has a stitch on which suddenly strikes me as terribly funny – especially when I look at Tom’s grumpy face.

After much swiping and spraying, the fly does a lap of honour and disappears off to the landing. Tom quickly slams the door and we flop into bed. You’d think with all the fly spray on my pillow I’d go out like a light, but no. All I can think of is us chasing round the room in our nuddy-pants trying to catch a fly. The more I try to stop giggling, the worse it gets, so now the peaceful night is disturbed by guffaws of laughter. It’s quite a long time before I finally fall asleep!