Automatic rifle by Kalashnikov - fly swat by Philippe Starck

The river is rilling gently. A light breeze rustles what remains of the bamboo imitating some half arsed wind chime made by the tone deaf. Somewhere in the valley a valiant hunter in search of small mammals and birds lets loose a burst of automatic gunfire sending Molly skeetering around her run: Bridey stands firm - and barks. From inside the house comes a regular, metronomic splatting.

At this time of year, in this season, under these conditions, we are beset by flies: swarms of them. Plagues of flies bother and bite everyone. Flies on light fittings. Flies on computer screens. Flies warming themselves in sunlight as it broaches window sills. Flies laying like raisins on the tiled floors - quick and dead alike. The biblical proportions of this plague, every year, and without fail bring out the beast in Gill. Gill the most gentle of people.

Gill is on the hunt with fly swatter in right hand (an Alessi Dr. Skud fly swat designed by Philippe Starck and wrought in a pale green) and a wadded sheet of kitchen towel in the left. She is counting under her breath, keeping toll of the casualties she has inflicted on the enemy. At 42 she stops and scrubs dead fly blood from the head of the swat with Zoflora hyacinth disinfectant. She glances up and sees another hundred clustered on the standard lamp stem. Slowly, methodically. she dries the head of the swat, drops the kitchen towel that swaddles the sanguine husks of the 42 and resumes her quest by stalking across the kitchen tiles now cleared of corpses to take the unsuspecting flies by surprise.

Only when her toll reaches triple figures will she stop. Only then will she have made a discernible impact.

Flies - what are they for?