Being About Bugs.

I just went into my kitchen to make a cup of tea, and saw a beetle scurrying away as fast as its little legs would carry it. It eventually took refuge in the dark place under the fridge. I like beetles. They’re inoffensive little creatures which just want to be about their business and keep out of your way.

The first year I lived in this house we had a hot summer and there were lots of bugs about. Late one sultry night I was sitting at my computer, frequently wiping the sweat from the side of my hand because it was making the desk wet, when I spotted a beetle – one of those handsome bronze ones that are a bit bigger than the commoner black ones – walking lazily across the rug. I imagined it was humming (or maybe whistling) an ancient beetle tune that had been passed down from generation to generation of handsome bronze beetles.

Now, call me odd if you like – I had imbibed rather a lot of barley juice if my memory serves me right – but I was suddenly possessed of the urge to get down on my hands and knees and stroke it. I tried, and it ran away as fast as its little legs would carry it. See what I mean?