Natural inundation

Our house seems to have been invaded by flies. I know it’s an expected by-product of living in the country, but it seems to be much worse at the moment than it’s been at any time since we’ve lived here. Simultaneously, our garden seems to have become populated by every bloody pigeon in Suffolk. It’s as if wood pigeons and houseflies have formed an alliance, and at their first planning meeting it was unanimously decided that they would henceforth all live at Chez Chesworth.
Bastards.
I don’t mind the birds, other than the fact that they shit everywhere and keep other birds away from the feeders, but the flies are a pestilence and a nuisance. Sit still for more than five seconds and you feel them crawling up your arm. Dare to make yourself a sandwich, and there’ll be half a dozen winged gits joining you in the feast and helping themselves to your breadcrumbs. I put up two fly strips on Sunday, and they’re both full, and still there seem to be more flies than there were at the weekend. It’s never-ending. A never-ending onslaught of insects. There’ll be ten buzzing around the kitchen, I’ll successfully swat eight of them, only to turn around and see there are now twelve flying over the cooker. Are they hiding behind saucepans and only coming out when one of their brethren is assassinated, so there’s a continual stream of them making my surfaces unsanitary and driving me slowly insane? Wouldn’t surprise me. Bastards.
I’m seriously considering buying some spiders.

RC 7-6-21