Brian the fly- Bedtime Stories

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IT’S FLY’S LIFE…

Timmy was playing with his new PlayStation. It was brilliant. The trouble was that Timmy wasn’t quite so brilliant.
Stevie Thompson was really good and always got the highest scores, but he’d had his game for a long time and he had a better joystick. Timmy had been practising as much as he could, but he still wasn’t fast enough.

Brian landed on Timmy’s joystick at a crucial moment, breaking Timmy’s concentration.

“Awwwe! Briaaan! Now you’ve made me miss it. I would have gone to the next level if it wasn’t for you,” yelled Timmy, shoving the joystick, along with Brian, to one side.

“Oh dear me, dear me,” said Brian. “What was your excuse last night then?”
Timmy, still sulking, turned to Brian, “Anyway, Mummy says flies are dirty creatures that live on rubbish and carry germs.”

“Funny that,” said Brian, “flies think humans are dirty creatures that spread all kinds of disease. After all, it’s you lot that leave all the rubbish around everywhere, we just take advantage now and again.”
“Yeah, but you must be bad, you gave us the plague.”

“And who told you that then, Timmy, my boy?”

“Luke did, he’s nine and he does history,” said Timmy confidently.

“Well, you tell Luke to listen more carefully next time, instead of looking at the girls; then he would know it was the rats, not the flies. Anyway, that was a long time ago; things are different now,” said Brian knowingly.
“So aren’t flies dangerous then?”

“I suppose it’s like humans, some are, and some aren’t,” Brian mused. “I mean, take those mosquitoes, now they do bite, humans, animals, anything they can get their teeth on. That’s how they thrive and some of the ones in foreign countries carry that malaria, which is pretty dangerous.

“Now, take the likes of me,” Brian continued. “Well, we’re happy just feeding on fruit and, in my case, Doris’s milk, not human blood like the others, so we’re not as bad, but all creatures who feed on waste leftovers can cause infections to you humans if you don’t take care and keep yourselves and your surroundings clean.

“Now, humans, and human things, they are dangerous to us flies. You take WINDOWS for instance,” Brian winced.
“Windows, what’s dangerous about windows?” Timmy laughed.

“You may laugh, my boy, but I tell you they’ll be the death of us,” Brian replied. “You see, when you see a window, you know it’s a window but to us it’s just an open space – until we hit it, that is.

“We never see it, you see. It doesn’t matter how many times we think we have it sussed there’s always one that fools us. We can be outside trying to get in or inside trying to get out but we always hit them.

“Some of us, of course, have wised up, we know that when we land on those net curtain things, we’re near a window. Like, we never go into those supermarket places, tempting as they are with all that food and stuff, because they have huge windows and it would take us months to get out.

“But the ‘Sticky Thickies’, they never learn. They’re the ones that always get caught in spiders’ webs and stuck on those awful strips people hang in their kitchens. They always take the risk and end up thrashing about on a window trying to find the end of it, bruising their noses again and again.

“Why do you think flies are always rubbing their noses!” Brian laughed.
“Mind you, we’re fast movers; we can fly in every direction and faster than you can blink.
“You try to catch me, Timmy, go on, try – I bet you can’t.”

“I bet I can,” said Timmy, lunging at Brian with his outstretched hand.
Brian shot up in a flash, helped along by the current of air Timmy had created by waving his hand. Again and again Timmy thrashed his arms about, trying to catch Brian, and every time Brian simply flew up and away with the wind.
“No, not like that!” said Brian. “Look, hold your thumbs out towards me, arms straight, that’s right, thumbs facing me. Now concentrate, imagine you’re pressing a button with those thumbs and I’m the button. Now I’m going to move, and I’ll be moving fast now so you’ll have to be quick.”

Timmy was sure he would catch Brian this time and he really concentrated. Zap, zap, zap. Timmy alternated his arms, thrusting his upturned thumbs directly at Brian. Back and forth, faster and faster, more and more determined with every try, until he was within a fraction of touching Brian. But Timmy still couldn’t catch Brian, because flies can move in every direction faster than boys can blink.

“That’s enough!” Brian exclaimed, as by now he was worn out. “You might not have got me this time but I tell you, you’ll be a darn site better at that computer game in the morning, my boy, just you wait and see.”
Timmy laughed, as he lay down on his bed exhausted. He had enjoyed the game so much. Brian, also exhausted, continued to tell Timmy how dangerous life was for a fly. “And then there’s the cars and the motorways – and getting trapped, we’re always getting trapped and the…”

Brian looked down at Timmy, who had finally given up trying to keep his eyes open and had put his overworked thumb in his mouth. As Timmy fell asleep, with one trainer on, Brian whispered:

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Jonsey's Hat Safe & Warm
Brian liked nothing better than to lie back in Jonesy’s hat and watch the sky go by. Although he was old and had lived in the olden days, Jonesy was nice. He was tall and straight and had a happy smile. He would tell stories and jokes and play tricks on people. You would know it was Jonesy coming because he always wore his old hat, like the ones the gangsters wore in the old movies.

It was by accident that Brian had flown onto Jonesy’s hat. He had landed on his back and struggled for ages to turn. In the end he wore himself out so much, thrashing about, that he decided to give up. Brian soon discovered that it was very nice lying on his back in Jonesy’s hat. The gentle rhythm of Jonesy’s walk, the bobbing up and down, the toing and froing, nearly rocked Brian to sleep, and sometimes it did, especially when Jonesy used to hum his special tunes.

It was comfortable, safe and warm in Jonesy’s hat, a bit like the blanket that Timmy used to carry about and take to bed so that he could rub the silky edge until he fell asleep. Of course, Timmy was too grown up now to carry his blankie, that’s what he used to call it when he was little, and his friends would laugh and call him a baby if they thought he still had one, even though they, like Timmy, did still sometimes use one when they were frightened of the dark or when they were unhappy. Every Thursday Jonesy would walk to the Post Office to collect his pension.

He would always complain to Elsie who worked there, “That isn’t enough money to feed the cat. I’ve worked all my life, you know, and paid all those taxes, mind, and fought for my country, and this is the reward I get – A PITTANCE!” (That’s a word from the olden days that meant a tiny amount of money.)

Elsie would tell him to stop being such a silly old fool and that she knew he didn’t have a cat and that he had never fought for his country because he wasn’t that old.

She would hand him the money and say, “I suppose you’ll be off to the pub and the bookies now to spend that pittance, eh, Jonesy?”

Jonesy would go off to the bookies to place a little bet on a horse that he fancied and then go to the pub for a refreshing pint.

Timmy’s mum stood behind Jonesy at the Post Office. Timmy was looking at the toys, and Lucy, Timmy’s little sister, was in her pushchair being quiet for a change.

Jonesy turned to Timmy’s mum, and said “Hello”. He bent down to Lucy and pulled funny faces, which made her giggle, and then he asked, “So, where’s that lad of yours then, that little scrawny thing, what’s his name, Tommy isn’t it?!”

Jonesy knew Timmy’s name perfectly well and he knew that he was there but Jonesy was playing a game and pretending he couldn’t see Timmy. Timmy’s mum would also play along, saying, “He was here a minute ago, gosh, I hope I didn’t leave him on the bus!”

Timmy came over and pulled at Jonesy’s jacket, saying, “I’m here, Jonesy, look, I’m here!”

Jonesy, ignoring Timmy, rubbed his hip where Timmy had pulled at him, saying, “This old war wound is giving me jip today.”

Timmy’s mum laughed and said, “The only wound you’ve got, Jonesy, is between your ears.” Timmy didn’t understand this because he couldn’t see anything wrong between Jonesy’s ears, but then Timmy didn’t understand lots of the silly things adults said.

Jonesy turned to Elsie and whispered something, handed her some money and then said goodbye, lifting his hat as he went.

When they left the shop, Jonesy was outside. He looked down at Timmy and, bending over, said, “Oh, there you are! I didn’t see you all the way down there; mind you, I didn’t have to bend down quite so far this time so you must be getting bigger.”

Then he handed Timmy a pack of the latest trading cards, which all the children were saving. Timmy was delighted and smiled up at Jonesy, who was telling his mum that the name of the cards was really Japanese for “Posti-man”. Timmy’s mum laughed, and said, “Say thank you to Jonesy, Timmy.”

Timmy, who had now decided to play the game, pretended that Jonesy wasn’t there, looked all around and said, “I would, Mum, but where’s he gone, I can’t see him!”

Jonesy ruffled Timmy’s hair, knelt down, handed Lucy a pink plastic windmill toy and stuck his cheek out in Timmy’s direction. Timmy said thank you and gave Jonesy a kiss and, as he did, out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of Brian, who was lying in Jonesy’s hat, watching the sky go by.