Getting Things Done: A Season of Experiment

Tarore of Te Waharoa. Joan of Arc. Anne Frank. Elizabeth of Hungary. Sophie Scholl. Therese of Lisieux. Wilfred Owen. Mrs Beeton.

What do all these people have in common? They all died at a younger age than I am now, all having left their mark upon the world (whether they knew it or not).

Even if I live to be a hundred (unlikely), I am still nearly a third of the way through my life. And should I happen to die tomorrow (possibly more likely than the die-at-100 scenario, albeit still fairly unlikely), I do not think I will pop off content with how I have spent my time on this wandering orb.

General Thaddeus Kosciusko by Benjamin West
What am I doing with my life?
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Death to the Fruit Flies!

Your average fruit fly will die of natural causes after only a month or two of life. Is this soon enough? Absolutely not!

They’re pesky little things, flitting around by your fruit bowl – or your kitchen windowsill of Bramleys, in my case – and while I can’t actually see what they’re doing, I’m sure it can’t be good.

Not being fond of spraying my food with insecticidal chemicals, I determined to take a less toxickly stinky method to wreak my devastation. (I may be a writer by profession, but I moonlight as the Death of Small Parasitic Insects.)

96 Mortulo
Think of it as an oddly-shaped fly swat.
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