Partly thanks to a seriously mild Indian Summer here, I am suffering a plague of flies at the minute. But much as I would love to blame the entire syndrome on ‘Climate Change’, this morning I discovered a more profoundly disturbing reality: the common house fly is now immune to many of the leading brands of insecticide.
A variety of internet pages confirm that ‘with the repeated use of the same insecticides, flies develop resistance through genetic mutations that make these products less effective’. To be clear about this, I inflicted a popular brand of French fly-spray on my invaders….and it had zero, zilch, no effect on the recipients. The odd bluebottle I targeted…yes, it began the familiar manic dipping and diving one associates with imminent flying insect death: but your house-fly laughed in the face of my attack.
Hitchcock sought a suitably terrifying follow-up to The Birds, but never found it. Were the old sex-beast alive today, one can’t help thinking that he might have gone for The Flies. You may think I jest, but these persistent little buggers are cavorting all over my kitchen surfaces, tables, plates and skin: and I feel powerless to stop them.
Worse things happen at sea, as my mysteriously bonkers Auntie Myra used to say. But there are very, very few seagoing flies.