A few years ago we had flyscreens installed to shelter us from the annual Algarve autumn onslaught of the annoying little beasties. I'm pleased to say that this was a total success, and our home is now a wonderful fly-free zone. That should mean that I'm no longer bothered by the malevolent moscas, but this hasn't been the reality this weekend.
During the previous week we had a neighbouring olive tree pruned, one close to our kitchen wall with branches draped over our kitchen roof. This work also exposed the kitchen wall, a wall that hasn't seen paint for ages. So, with an exposed wall in need of paint, good weather, paint, rollers and brushes in the shed - I headed out with the best of intentions to tackle what should have been a quick job. I didn't count on the flies.
As soon as I had wedged myself between the wall and the trunk of the olive tree, someone, somewhere sounded the call to arms for every able-bodied fly to muster and prepare for attack.
Ill prepared, wearing shorts and a t-shirt and armed only with a paint-laden roller, I fought a losing battle. With each passing minute I swatted madly with brushes and rollers, resulting in very little paint applied to the wall, gallons on myself, with only the occasional bugger sent to oblivion. Fighting the annoying little blighters turned the time which should have passed quickly into one that which dragged endlessly on.
I think I now know what is implied by the phrase 'time flies'.