Summer can bring many pleasant things. Some of those things are upto
and not including, walking along the verdant English countryside as
the Sun goes down, holding hands with the person you love, thinking
‘Jeez, isn’t England a shit tip?’, it can also mean shedding as many
clothes as a run of the mill prostitute and setting yourself up at a
prominent position in the local park, stealing admiring glances from
youths and pedophiles alike, and that’s great. But what isn’t great
and can easily be called the Worst Thing Of Summer isn’t sunburn, or
sticky suncream that gets clogged with sand, it’s not even everywhere
being overcrowded because families think it’s acceptable to take their
children out for the day. It’s moths.
Moths are evil. Everything about them is disgusting. The beady eyes,
the horrible browny grey coloured wings that look like Tim Burton
attempted to draw a butterfly and the way they bump into things,
flapping and clacking off any surface as they please IN YOUR HOUSE!
They swan around your house, walking all over your things, looking at
your children IN YOUR HOUSE and when they are challenged they just
flap away, frantically making your children scream with horror into a
corner on the ceiling that you can’t reach with a shoe and/or broom.
You wouldn’t take it from a burglar if you came home from seeing the
new X-Men film and saw that he was attached to your bedroom wall,
smiling down with an incessant grin and two beady eyes. No, you’d call
the police and say “Hey! There’s a man in a balaclava and a baseball
bat holding my XBOX 360 on my wall, come and sort it please, there’s a
good chap,” to which they would. But theres no support for anti-moth
sentiment with the police, you’ve just got to take a stand against the
fluttery nightmare and show it who’s boss. Normally, this means
crushing it between one of the slippers that you’ve not got round to
wearing yet and the wall with one almighty, crashing blow that sends
it fluttering to the ground in a broken heap.
One time I had a moth in my room and it was one of the biggest insects
that I’ve ever seen. It gave Jeff Goldblum a run for his money, in the
Sports Day Egg and Spoon Race I imagined in my head. It fluttered and
banged it’s way across my ceiling, heading towards my night-ligh– er,
light, for salvation, knocking expensive Fabergé eggs and flat screen
LCD TVs to the ground, which I incidentally could not claim for, due
to lack of them actually existing in my house and remained just out of
my grasp: my grasp being extended by the striped espadrille I was
clutching like Nora Batty and her brush. I just couldn’t reach the
smarmy little bastard, and he knew it too. Eventually I managed to
cobble together a device to make me taller (standing on a chair) and
struck an almighty blow to my winged intruder. He fluttered to the
ground, a broken moth and humans reigned over every other creature in
the World once more.
But he didn’t die readers, he picked himself up, dusted himself and
set upon destroying what was left of my room. Priceless Picasso
paintings, three PlayStation 3s and three batterings from my
espadrille later he collapsed to the floor and died a noble death.
Which brings me onto my point; along with Cher’s original face,
cockroaches and Christina Aguilera in the ‘Dirrrty’ video, moths will
be the only things left on the Planet come nuclear apocalypse*.
Why would nature create something that is so frightening and almost
indestructible? We’ve already got the uncomfortable prospect of a
Simon Cowell-Ronan Parke-Louis Walsh triumvirate of evil looming on
the horizon, so why do we have to put up with an indestructible flying
creature that will not stay out of my house? Surely mankind can only
take so much before we put down the Strawberry Poptarts and say ‘Come
on now lad’ (the generalised voice of mankind has a Yorkshire accent)
‘Lets stop playing silly beggars and get a grip by eck by gum’.
When you see a moth from now on, look deep into it’s eyes on stalks
and give a solemn nod before raising a slipper up to strike it down,
because if it survives and they become the ruling species, you’ll need
to make nice really quickly to stop being put into the mothball
factories in Chile.
*Even they think ‘Dirrrty’ is the pinnacle of Aguilera’s career.