BiDs June 23, 2007Posted by BiB in Uncategorized.
…or bugs in distress.
Darlings, my loathing of the animal kingdom knows almost no bounds. I mean, I like a cat or a dog as much as the next man, and I may vaguely coo in pre-awe at some incredibly cute furry thing. Knut’s been known to get a coo out of me, per esempio. I dashed for the pandas when I went to Berlin zoo. I adore foxes. And would be even more impressed with the elephant/rhino/hippo fraternity if they didn’t have such bad derms.
But, god, aren’t flying, crawling, buzzing things cunts?
Berlin is a tricky place to live. The climate is basically shit. Not as shit as in London, by any stretch of the imagination. We have all the seasons here, pretty much, and give me snow and proper arcticity any day over London’s wet, even-greyer, +2 version of winter. And Berlin can do boilingness in the summer which, let’s face it, we all richly deserve having put up with the other ten months of the year.
But I’m finding the buzzing/flying/crawling sub-division of the animal kingdom almost unbearable. Of course I’ve blogged all this before – history HAS officially ended as far as my life is concerned and it’s just going over old ground from now on – but you can’t flog a dead horse too much in my book. But no sooner are the really arctic days behind us when the windows can be flung open for more than ten seconds to remove the stench of stale cigarette smoke but the loathsome beasts start to arrive.
My battle with the flies is almost constant. I mostly go for the straightforward smash but, in the spirit of Wimbledon, I’ve decided it’s time to brush up on my backhand slice too, which always takes the bastards by surprise. I’ve got a not bad in-to-out forehand. The lob is under-used. In any case, flies deserve to die, be they dispatched with Federerian skill or not.
Wasps come later in the year but are utter fiends in central Europe. It’s not unknown to have wasp-alarms announced in the press. Rumour has it a glass of water filled with sugar draws them in like wasps to a glass of water filled with sugar.
But today, as I sat drinking a thoroughly well-deserved postprandial vat of wine, I had my worst ever bug experience.
Bugs are annoying enough as it is without them being in distress. A bug in need is a cunt indeed. (Darlings, I do apologise for such liberal use of the c-word. Sometimes, especially when talking about bugs, no other four-letter word will do.) So I sat, gently wading my way through whole barrels of wine when a noise reminiscent of a plane nose-diving to the ground swamped the kitchen. I dashed to turn on the telly to see if there’d be breaking news of a jet downed over Berlin’s inclement skies. But soon realised it was no such thing. It was a bug-in-distress. Talk about not knowing how to make friends and influence people. The largest, ugliest bug I’d ever seen had kamikazed itself right into the kitchen lamp. It was AT LEAST as big as a giraffe and not nearly as pretty. It had dimly landed on its back and was flailing its loathsome little limbs corybantically, like a toddler having a tantrum. Noisy, uninvited and ugly. Not a single saving grace.
I screamed for the Russian to do something. “What IS it?” I screamed, before he prosaically answered, “bug”. “Is it a giraffe?” “It bug. BiB, you are mad. It bug.” I ran for my life, and lit myself an analgesic ciggy. The Russian warned me the coast was clear. “I throw it out vindow. It khardly fly.”
Bugs should know where and when they are welcome. They have the entire outdoor world to gambol about in, spreading disease, fear and nastiness. I’ve never seen why flies see fit to settle on the living-room lamp-shade, for example. Nothing to do with being attracted to a flame. The bastard’s switched off mostly. They should be out, getting some exercise, rather than loafing round the house watching me not work. Wasps know that everyone loathes them and pop in just to spite you. And bugs as big as giraffes should just stay in Botswana or wherever it is they call habitat.
They all make it very hard to believe in god indeed.