Honey

Listen, I like butterflies as much as the next man. I like to watch them bouncing round the garden. Pretty things aren’t they, when they land on a flower and open and shut their wings the way they do? But we took the kids to a butterfly house once and there were these gigantic butterflies, enormous things; one of them landed on me and it really gave me the horrors. Since then, I’ve given them a wide berth. Plus I’m not that keen on caterpillars either, come to that. Anyway, we were in a beach bar in Spain and my girlfriend had put this honey sunscreen on her face. She smelt like a bloody cake shop. There were lots of flowering things behind the bar, those pink jobs you see abroad, and there were butterflies all round them. My girlfriend must’ve smelt like some kind of gorgeous plant and the butterflies made a bee-line for her, flapping round her. All over her head they were, on her neck, her hair, her mouth, even her eyelids, but she didn’t turn a hair or bat an eyelid. All kinds, some big, some small, some with splashes of blue and some honey-coloured, like her eyes. She looked up at the sky, cool as anything, like in a trance or something. I took one photo for Facebook then I admit I had to go and get myself a couple of beers and leave her to it. By the time I came back the butterflies were gone and she was very quiet for the rest of the day. The next day she went and bought herself some different sunscreen. I never said anything more about it and nor did she.