Fly Paper

I have a thing about flies. And vermin! And what was euphemistically called "the biffy". They are all part of that resistant little gyrus I own that won't self-destruct and tenaciously reminds me of hot prairie days when stinky was in and buzzing was all around and dirty little vermin were part of the moving lower firmament. Maybe it seems to some that one is over-delicate and somewhat neurotic, but I have not embraced these God given creatures even though they have not been encountered for years. I vividly remember the fly paper hanging from the kitchen of my grandad's farm, flies stuck in crowded yellow goop, dead, struggling, wings beating in the last extremity of death. And in the restaurants, flypaper hanging over the raisin pies, competing with the pies for flies. And the biffy, hot and stinky, without fly paper but with lots of flies, the idyllic country life of yesteryear called the " good old days." And the mice, dirty and grey, racing hither and yon, feeding on all the kitchen remnants, leaving little stools behind as they ate. They gave me the shivers. Life in the thirties and forties I think were good for testing the ability to stay healthy and tough despite this attack of the dirt brigade, but a little sanitation is a wonderful thing and today, nobody need care where flypaper goes, mouse stool
lurks and thinking time is never in the biffy other than in a jiffy.