I'm sitting here on the couch trying to write this, only I keep getting distracted by the flies. For there are flies hovering in here! I've never had flies in a St Ives cottage. When I called the owner (St Ives cottage owners are wonderful and will drop whatever they are doing to dash over), he was extremely polite but not sure of what could be done with flies. He wanted to know what the Americans would do.
"What would the Americans do?" he asked.
"Well, I think we would get out a can of RAID and spray the little wretches."
"Ok, that is what we would do too," he said. "Didn't it work?"
"No, they are still hale and hearty."
Next, I said what my husband had suggested on the phone when I complained. He thought fly paper might do the trick. The owner had never heard of fly paper, but said the Colesco story down the street would carry it if anyone did.
The owner also suggested using a fan to chase the flies out of the window. Right now I am looking at the fan blowing a gale toward the hovering flies. They don't seem in a hurry to shift, but anything is worth a try.
This was my final suggestion. "We grab a kitchen towel and wait for a fly to land somewhere. Then we smash the brute to smithereens." I said.
Then we ran out of fly suggestions, but the cottage owner is sure that one will do the trick. For some reason I'm not terribly sure. What do you think? Have you had pesky flies in your domicile, and did they win?
My strategy today was to go for a long walk in the fresh air (Raid doesn't smell too good). The first stop was to see friend Jean in Carbis Bay. She isn't in her little bungalow anymore, but has been placed into a care center. I think it is a very good place for her, and will be a helpful protection from falls.
Plus, she is being entertained mightily, there! Besides a large flat screen TV in the common area, there is often something exciting going on, someone getting medication, or someone not wanting their dinner. The ladies who work there are SMART. If a resident would prefer not to do something, those ladies somehow talk them around with a combination of encouragement and humor.
When I walked in to see her, she smiled and called, "I KNOW her! She's an AMERICAN!" The residents snapped their heads around to stare at me, as apparently Americans are rarely seen visiting British care homes these days.
All of a sudden I felt Jean patting my arm.
"Yes, Jean?" I asked. She pointed to the television. "He's an American TOO!"
Elvis Presley beamed out at us from the screen just feet from where we sat. All the heads snapped back as we stared at the screen, amazed at Elvis' young good looks and terrific voice. My oh my, it perked up everybody in the room, just like it used to when I had watched him decades ago, singing about being nothing but a hound dog, Cryin all the time.
I suddenly remembered hearing way back when, how Elvis lost much of his fame because of the 'British Invasion'. He'd been as famous as can be and rolling in the dough, when along came 4 young men called The Beatles.
Elvis' fame evaporated, chased away and out the window of fame, just like those flies.
See you along the way!
the SconeLady
Coming into St Ives on Friday
