"Tis the season of nits and general fleabyness." The poet had other ideas, but come September we all know - they're back! The yellow letters from schools, " There's been an outbreak in your child's class , etc"
Not your child. Never that, though the poor mite hasn't seen a brush for six weeks and hair washing has been sporadic at best.The lice have landed and chemists are doing a roaring trade in lotions and fine-tooth combs.
Then there's the dog. My son was hours old when I spotted a flea on him. In the hospital. Carted in by me the night before from our new flat, recently vacated by a large and very grumpy labrador.
The midwife visited and shared the front step with a spaceman, kitted out in white suit, helmet and a tank on his back. Fumigating took hours and we all sat in the garden watching a flypast to commemorate the outbreak of war in September 1939.
We battled those beasties three times with our White Knight who told us he would be black from ankle to knee when dealing with really bad cases. Ours was a walk in the park, he said. Not to us. I wouldn't let my friend past the door in case she got bitten to death. She thought I'd gone off her. Sorry Edwina, it was those horrible, horrible fleas! Forgive me?
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