No! I Don’t Need Reading Glasses! by Virginia Ironside

times I catch them, by putting a glass over them, sliding a postcard underneath and placing them in the garden, they keep coming back.I’ve stopped putting saucers of milk out for them, but still they come. Wish I’d kept that picture of them from the paper so I could see if they really are an endangered species or not.
    When James rang to discuss doing some sketches of me, he was very sceptical.
    â€˜Darling, you can’t have beetles in your kitchen!’ he said. ‘It’s disgusting, even if they are endangered. They might eat your food and lay eggs in your pasta, and then one day when you’re pouring out the rice or something you’ll find it’s not white grains, but loads of little larvae …’
    I thought a bit. ‘I wonder if the council could do something,’ I said, thoughtfully.
    â€˜No, don’t be silly! The council has a waiting list a mile long and they only put down the cheap repellents. Get it done properly,’ said James.
    So I looked on the computer to find my nearest pest control and told them about my beetles.
    â€˜But I think they’re an endangered species,’ I said. ‘They’re black, by the way, not brown.’
    There was a silence at the other end.
    â€˜It is of course possible that they
are
an endangered species, madam,’ said a man in a cautious voice, ‘but unlikely if they’re in your kitchen and only appear at night. It sounds to me as if they might be oriental—’ here I gasped and interrupted, ‘Oriental beetles! How rare can you get?’
    â€˜No, madam, not oriental
beetles
. Oriental
cockroaches
. The black ones. I’ll send a man round tomorrow.’
    Oh Lord! I felt as if my world were falling apart. My house had suddenly turned into a David Attenborough documentary. I imagined cockroaches everywhere, in my sitting room, crawling round the loo seat, in my bed … down my bra … I called on my Polish neighbour and asked if she had them, and she reluctantly said that yes, she had thought they were earwigs at first, but now she had discovered they were cockroaches.
    â€˜But are yours big and black and shiny?’ I asked.
    â€˜No, they are small and brown,’ she said. ‘They are German cockroaches.’
    Good God! Checking with my neighbours on the other side I discovered that they had German ones, too. Small and brown! Mine, for God’s sake, are not only black but they’re the size of Shetland ponies. Hardly dare tell Michelle.
19 March
    A man with a mask and a spray came round today and asked me to leave the house for two hours after he’d finished treating the place.
    He told me that cockroaches are distantly related to lobsters. They lay hundreds of eggs at a time, and scream when you tread on them. Apparently they are the only creatures to survive a nuclear explosion. In the States, he told me, they used to get rid of them by laying down ‘Roach motels’ – little cardboard traps which feature a drawing of a cheeky cockroach in a top hat and holding a cigar with aspeech bubble saying ‘Roaches check in – but they don’t check out!’
    He charged me so much money that I realised I’d
definitely
have to sell the Caulfield if I wanted a facelift. But at least my house is now clear of vermin. Feel so ashamed of actually trying to preserve the beasts.
20 March
    I’ve been ringing Archie every other day just to see if he’s okay – I daren’t ring Sylvie again – and during one conversation he admitted that Sylvie had suggested he see a doctor, but he’d refused.
    â€˜There’s nothing wrong with me at all, after all. Don’t want to waste his time.’
    Oh dear. Well, at least she tried.
    And notice the way he said ‘his’. Not just me, then.
    When I suggested coming down he said that Philippa had asked several friends over so there might not be room. I didn’t want to point out yet