Flies, pheasants and feeling fuzzy

I know it’s spring, not only because of seeing the odd flip flop but also because insects have started to copulate in my back bedroom. Yesterday, I tried to prize apart a couple of teensy flies who were bareback riding in amongst my brussel sprouts seedlings but unfortunately, I was a bit cack handed; it wasn’t so much coitus interruptus as coitus squashus; I only hope they were in the afterglow and not coming up to a rolling boil! Anyway, to continue on a theme of frustration, I went to see Archipelago at the cinema last night. It was set on a windswept island and mostly consisted of four people who didn’t much like each other, moaning, eating dinner, having long conversations about lobsters, and going to, and getting out of, bed. Every now and again, a Tony Blair lookie likie popped by to talk deep and meaningless, mostly to a young man who wore striped pyjamas and had a talking teddy (yes, it was as bad as that). To relieve the middle class ennui, there was a couple of scenes with working class people selling dead animals. As a result, I now know how to dress a pheasant which is a level of take-out not usually experienced from a cinematic environment. Anyway, there must have been a lot of weak bladders in the audience, either that, or people were leaving the screen in order to stab themselves in the eye in an effort to relieve the torpidity. Of course, they could have been going to complain that, in the distance, while riding his sit up and beg through the island’s windswept lanes, Edward’s corduroy trousers were a bit of a blur. We found out later that the Duke’s has had some men in and the focus has gone all doolally. I now feel a bit doolally myself!