It’s that time of year. Bluebottles. Buzz, buzz, fucking buzz.
They’re so annoying that instead of the traditional fly spray we’ve invested (£9-99) in a 21st century fly swatter.
It’s the same shape as the old ones; a bit like a tennis racket except you have to use your thumb and finger make sure it’s active. It electrocutes them.
I got in from work and saw it lying on the side.
‘What’s this?’ I said, picking it up half thinking it was for a garden game of tennis or badminton.
‘It’s an electronic fly swatter’.
I’m going to have fun tonight! I thought. Especially as Wimbledon is on the telly.
I went upstairs and got changed into t-shirt and shorts.
I was ready for action. There I was, prowling around the house, looking for flies.
Forehand – zzzzzzt! Blimey it works!
Back hand – zzzzzzt! I love it!
Over arm smash – zzzzzzzzt! Yes!
It’s a bit like the Wii but only cheaper. I can’t wait for the Daddy Long Legs to come out in September.
Satisfied with my haul of dead flies, I sat on the kitchen sofa with my new toy/weapon. I was waiting for the one last remaining fly.
I saw it. It buzzed towards me and circled several times before settling on my bare knee.
Thwack!
Fuck!
I’ve got a burn mark there now.
I’ll tell my mates it’s a carpet burn obviously.
