I’m being stalked. By a fly!

So there I am, happily out for my morning stroll. It’s about 5.45am and albeit a little bit sleepy, I’m enjoying the cool air and marvelling at the glorious golden sun that I can see rising over North Bondi. I’m relaxed and happy, listening to the birds chirping their morning hellos and loving life.

Until there it is. My peace has been disturbed. Bzzzzzzzzzzzz. Dammit, there’s a fly. I continue walking, considering my exciting new blog and fantasising about it becoming successful. But again, I’m interrupted. Bzzzzzzzzzzz. Goddammit, I think the fly is following me!

Suddenly, any inner calm I had enjoyed has been tipped out of sight and replaced with an inability to focus on anything other than the sound of this fly. Bzzzzzz. Good lord, how big is this bloody thing? It sounds like a jackhammer.

I’m still walking (admittedly, I’m now going a bit faster – I’ll outsmart him, I think to myself). But there he is again, buzzing like he’s got the most exciting piece of news to share and he really wants me to know about it. It seems that Flyan Seacrest here must be some hotshot celebrity reporter and the sh*t is going down in Flyville, because he’s not letting up. Bzzzzzzzzzzz.

If it was later in the day, the sound of this insect (who happens to have a drone as loud as a beast) would be drowned out by passing cars and real jackhammers, (we love a bit of roadside renovation in Bellevue Hill). But as it’s too early for most, this guy has absolutely no competition. It’s like an episode of X-Factor for flys. And so far there’s only one contender.

But then… hang on… the fly has gone! Yes! I outwitted him with my quick step and lost him, hurrah! Now I can enjoy my peaceful morning walk again.

Bzzzzzzzzzzz.

Whaaaaat? He’s back! Jesus, the damn thing must have been hitchhiking on my back. Urgh. Wiping his feet on my shoulders no doubt. He could even have been doing a tap dance – maybe this really is Australian Flydol?

I don’t think I’m alone in my dislike of flies. Even my dog (who is sadly no longer alive, bless him) used to go crazy if there was a fly nearby. He was a usually placid golden retriever, so it was hilarious to watch Dudley whenever a fly innocently buzzed its way into his personal space. With a jolt of the head, Dudley would prick up his ears and would rise from his resting place, quick smart, with a determined look of “I’m gonna get you, McFly”.

He’d race to the window (or wherever the fly was) and snap and snarl with teeth bared and fluffy tail swatting in time. It was game on! Often the fly would prevail and fly away (mission accomplished in my books), but sometimes Dudley would snap right on course at just the right time and Bam! Sayonara Mr Fly. God, how I loved that dog!

Before I have a chance to reminisce about Dudley, I’m quickly brought back to real time, as I hear the fly buzzing again. Damn. I turn corners with the agility of David Beckham, trying to lose my buzzing friend. It doesn’t work. What is with this thing?

I’m reminded of a time when another fly stalked me for days. Really. When I was 24 living in London, I swear for about three weeks there was a gigantic fly in my bedroom that would sit on my windowsill, motionless, until just before I was going to bed. That’s when it would attack. Bzzzzzzzzzzzz! As if on cue he’d take off from his perch and begin languidly flying around my room with what must have been a microphone tucked under one wing. He was the size of an A380 airbus but unlike the planes, this fella had complete disregard for air traffic restrictions (even Heathrow closes at 11pm). No, this mighty insect would take off and land numerous times throughout the night. Sounding just like a jumbo jet, he’d come swooping directly at me, buzzing over my head. I was terrified! Nobody had given him clearance to land, and the runway most certainly was not my face! Arrrghhhhh! I was haunted for weeks!

I don’t know why I didn’t swat the thing (maybe I did?). I can’t remember how I eventually got rid of it, but I can still to this day remember the feelings of being stalked by that fly. And now here’s another one, taunting me with the same cacophonic drone.

Bzzzzzzzz. He’s still here! I’ve been walking for about 30 minutes! We must have covered at least 3 kilometres! In my mind, I’m on the set of Rocky III. You know the scene where Coach is on a bicycle riding alongside Rocky as he runs, doing air jabs and uppercuts. Yeah, well, I’m gonna uppercut this fly if he doesn’t buzz the hell off pretty damn soon. I’m not coaching you to stardom mate. You are not the wind beneath my wings and the only one who’s gonna win this fight is ME! GO. AWAY.!!

Doesn’t he realise that I need to spend this quiet time manifesting my brilliant future? My morning walk is part of a daily meditation routine. I’m supposed to be feeling how wonderful it is to be healthy, wealthy and full of happiness, not being bothered by a creature with compound eyes and six legs. How the hell am I going to work out which Hollywood actress is going to play me in the movie of my life when I can’t hear myself think!?

At this point, my knees buckle and I burst out laughing. This is hilarious! I’m getting cross at a fly because he’s interrupting my dreams of the Hollywood screenplay of my blog! The blog, that up until an hour ago you couldn’t even subscribe to because I hadn’t worked out how to add the “follow me” button! Ha! Thank goodness nobody is around because they would have seen me lose my footing and crumble like a day old pastry into fits of giggles.

Amazingly, once I regained composure and came back to the real world, I stood there, and listened. They say laughter is contagious – must be true because a kookaburra has joined in. Oh, yes, I am just soooooo funny.

And the fly? Well, he obviously has no sense of humour.

He’s gone.