No flies on me

When I returned to the flat in Germany I was surprised to find that Simon hadn't been as alone as I'd imagined. Indeed, there seemed to be an extended family of fruit flies keeping him company. In a jealous rage I declared war on the new residents. I armed myself with fly paper and suspended it from the freezer, by the sink. A week on and I was pleased to see that the fly paper was speckled with little black dots: one-time flies.

Last night Mother Nature got her own back. I was doing the washing up while simultaneously trying to supervise April and prevent her from opening the biscuit tin. As I flicked my head around to look in April's direction, my hair became completely entangled in the sticky fly paper. I swore (so much for my self-imposed ban on swearing in front of my daughter) and Simon came running to my rescue. Once freed, I touched my hair and I could tell that it was matted with sticky residue and possibly some flies. There was only one thing to do - wash it out immediately. 10 minutes later and I was sitting in a bath tub having scrupulously scrubbed my hair a couple of times. The flies that fell from my newly cleaned locks didn't seem to mind sharing the bath water. I minded a little more.