Daddy Long Legs

Subject- Myles, opportunistic stroller

The other night I was led in bed in my boxers and a pair of walking socks (yeah, you heard me...) playing Football Manager. The game was on mute as it was sometime in the early hours and Fiona, naturally, was asleep.

The window was cracked open and the curtains wafted slowly in a breeze which was tastefully tinted with the scent of flame grilled meat issuing from the pub's extractor fan next door. The only light in the room was that of my laptop screen. The seagulls hadn't woken up yet. The room was entirely silent.

Suddenly, the peace was interrupted by a light intermittent skittering on the wall above my head. I recognised the sound immediately and had a dreadful realisation of
what had entered the room- Tipula Maxima- my most hated and eternal nemesis.

I'll leave it, I thought, as long it it sticks to the roof. But no sooner had this thought trickled through my drowsy mind that there was an almighty woosh. A great, spindly shadow was cast over my face and my bare arm was attacked by this most gruesome of beasts. Like a bolt I made for the end of the bed, hoping to wait out the bombardment. The incessant skittering on the walls only increased, however, and after turning on the light I was met by a most horrid sight. There were three.

The battle of the crane-flies had commenced.

I've had reasonable experience in the field of entomological warfare and thus wasted no time in removing the walking sock from my right foot, grateful, at this point, for my taste in slumber-wear. I then stood by the light with the knowledge that these idiots were fairly keen on a good quality light bulb.

He came at me, arms gaping - the infamous death hug. I noticed, to my horror that he had also acquired a weapon, this time in the shape of a bit of dusty spider's web hanging from his foot. I bided my time.

KAPOW.

I swung the sock in his direction, but was myself blinded by the lamp. In a daze I tried to locate him. Suddenly, he attacked my one bare foot- tickle tactics. I whizzed the wool around and whipped him towards the window, back to whence he came.

I then caught sight of myself in the wardrobe mirror; a fully grown man, pale in the bright lamp light, sporting a terrible excuse for a beard and wearing nothing but a pair of boxers and one walking sock.

What have I become? I thought to myself.

Victorious. That's what.

I slid back in to bed next to Fi who hadn't budged an inch and so remained blissfully ignorant of her silent hero. Her man in shining walking sock.

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