Last night was a ripper. When I got home and unlocked the door, the uh-oh smell of dead mouse. There hasn’t been one for months, thus maintaining the sweet odour of domestic happiness. Bedtime, pull back top sheet and there’s whole row of mouse poo. The victim has been sleeping in my bed. Where’s the corpse?
Make bed with clean sheets. Hundreds of thrips, those hardy little black insects that get through any fly-screen short of solid glass, and pursue light with a fanaticism that makes moths and candles look token. You switch out the light and they move straight for next palest lightest object. Human face, you guessed it.
I got up about 2 am to do something, anything, less boring than being kept awake by thrips running over my nose, round my neck, under the sheet etc… As I turn on the light, something long enough to make me think ‘Is that a snake? A snakelet?’ ran across the floor and under the bookcase with a sinisterly smooth action. Holy shit. Got back to bed with the torch. My house has been taken over by aliens in this summer of abundant wet.
In the warm light of dawn, the Creature runs out from the bookcase and goes under the fridge. It’s a giantbrindle-coloured sort of centipede, about 12 cm I guess. Better than a reptile, but not much better. What now? I can’t sweep it into the dustpan: something that mobile isn’t going to sit in a dustpan and be taken outside. The old glass tumbler and sheet of paper trick? No glass big enough. I might be lucky and quick enough to hit it with a stick, though that’s the last resort.
I’m going to town, I’m leaving them all to it.