Wednesday, October 09, 2013

Little Flies

When it comes to magnetism you've either got it.

Or you aint.

And, boy, do I have it.

I need only go out walking, say, in the sun for about, oo, 10 minutes and they come flocking.

Flies, that is.

Into my hair.

For some reason, when I go walking past their little fly homes they feel compelled to hop into my barnet and either casually dangle from my fringe (causing me to leap back in fright startling everyone in the vicinity) or stay rather quiet and still but then drop down and into my eyes just as I'm in the middle of a pooh/about to purchase something in a shop/going to kiss the Chuppies.  Additionally, it's almost a dead cert that if I'm about to get involved in a new situation with new people that a bloated bluefly will come slowly buzzing out of my follicles frightening everyone in the process.

Not sure if it's the colour, the smell, the style, or what, but it's ten pound to a penny that after walking around outside there will be at least one fly in my locks.

And it's not like my hair's especially long.  Gone are the days when it used to casually billow out beyond my shoulder blades and midway down my back.  Nor do I wear it loose.  After a few too many hair lice incidents from the tube (yes, I am looking at you, Central Line, you filthy fish) I have resigned myself to having my hair generally yanked up and pulled away from any other possible louse infestations.

Yet they keep trespassing my tresses.

Take yesterday for example.  Myself and the Chups had had to attend a family funeral (his grandfather had passed away a coupla weeks ago) and whilst the Chuppies was busy getting to know his estranged relations in the waiting area to the crematorium I remained in the background, reading the cremation's order of service card and stifling a few quiet farts.

Suddenly I became aware of the Chuppies calling my name and, with his arm around my waist, I was introduced to his distant relatives.  Smiling politely and cheek-kissing those who offered their cheeks (although, typing this now, I am not sure why) I made small talk with those gathered.  And all was going well.

Until a huge black fly fell out of my fringe.

Quite startling one old bloke who appeared to go into an airplane crash position nearly upending an occasional table between us.  

"Sorry" I quickly said, whilst backing off in to a corner, brushing my hair frantically and cursing the enormous fly that was now, after its brief foray in my fringe, looking to escape through a closed window pane next to the Chuppies.  

The rest of the day (and the service) passed without further insectoid horror but you only need one fly hair incident for people to make a quick (although mistaken) judgement about you, your personal hygiene and where (perhaps) you might have just had your head in order for a buzzing thing to have made a (temporary) home in it.

Which reminds me of a similar incident that took place when I was about 19.  

I was young, naive and working as an office junior in a small firm of accountants in the City.  I'd just become aware as to my fly magnetism skills and this particular lunchtime was studying my hair in the company's toilet mirror.  I'd recently returned to the office (after having spent a coupla hours delivering packages near St Pauls) and was due to sit with one of my bosses to run through some accounts and generally be in relatively close proximity - so did not want any flies to come hurtling out of my hair whilst running through a client's expense sheet.

Having satisfied myself that there was nothing contained in my hair do, I confidently ascended the stairs to the boss' office, and perched myself on the chair on the other side of his desk.  The boss in question was on the phone when I came in and, whilst he finished his conversation, I sat down and waited quietly (after smoothing down my skirt, pulling a stray hair off my sleeve and picking off an errant thread that had become stuck to my 40 denier tights).  After the earlier study in the mirror and my recent quick preening I felt as neat as a pin and ready to tackle whatever laid ahead.

The boss put down his phone.

"Ah thanks for coming up," the boss began whilst pushing some expense sheets towards me.  "And sorry for making you go through these again but-"

-and it was at this point he faltered.

For a huge bogey had fallen out of my left nostril and was slowly rolling on the desk towards him.

Quietly panicking as a huge bloom of sweat burst forth between my legs I was about to succumb to a good blubbing session of embarrassment.

When I suddenly had a brainwave.

"Pesky flies!" I quickly shouted whilst jabbing at the offending bogey (which quietly rolled off the desk and stuck itself to the boss' carpet).

"Ah yes," the boss replied, "we must be heading for a storm.  They seem to be everywhere."


Grump said...

Oh the joys of being a fly magnet, with a runny nose. Each summer, we play host to a fly. Large black bugger, who enjoys teasing me around my desk. He will land just long enough to attract my attention and then as soon as I swoop, with my ruler or rolled up newspaper, he is off again,dancing mid air millimeters above the desk. Pesky fly.
Woofing for you LL. x

London-Lass said...

Pesky indeed.