For the last couple of hours there have been approximately seventeen flies on my living room ceiling.

I don’t know where they’ve all come from. They certainly weren’t here yesterday. I can only presume that it’s some sort of day trip, and no doubt they’ll be gone in the morning. I suppose the other possibility is that one of their species had laid seventeen eggs somewhere in the house, and they’ve all just hatched, but they don’t look like babies to me. Come to think of it I have no idea what baby flies look like, but I imagine them to be cute furry things with big puppy dog eyes, which these certainly aren’t.

My ignorance with regard to the fly lifecycle doesn’t stop at not knowing the appearance of their young - I also have no idea how many you get in a litter. For all I know there could be another six hundred eggs behind the telly, waiting to hatch while I sleep. By the time I wake up tomorrow it’s possible - nay, probable - that I won’t be able to reach the front door owing to the thick wall of these filthy creatures blocking my way.

I just counted again and I think there are twenty-one now. I’m going to bed before I can’t move.