Every now and then I get completely absorbed by a tiny natural drama, and there is one playing out in my house at the moment. I am morbidly fascinated, and revolted and intrigued.

I hate flies. Summer, five animals that live in our house, and cat and dog food means a lot of flies. I hate fly spray though. But I have one of those electric shock tennis racquets and I have become quite good at fly murder (even though I am famous for having had my tennis career cut short after my first 1/2 hour lesson, at age eight, when the coach told my mother that she was most definitely wasting her money and I shouldn’t be brought again).

Even though I love my racquet of death, I (sis, I know) leave the little dead bodies lying on the floor. I hope that the other flies will see them and stay away. (Yeah, right).

In the last couple of days I have noticed dead fly bodies in the shower, of all places. And then I noticed a line of ants marching up the shower wall towards a tiny fissure between the ceiling and the lintel. And then I noticed little fly bodies being carried up the wall by the damn ants. Now the fissure is far too small for the fly bodies to fit through, so I think the ants are dismembering them and taking them through, tiny piece by tiny piece. It’s so grim. Sometimes the ants lose the fight with gravity, a vertical wall, the sheer size of the fly body in question, and they drop them. More than one has landed on the soap.

I shower surrounded by dead fly bodies and a line of ants marching them up the wall. This is the tiny drama of my life right now.