Dark streets, no problem.
Things that go bump in the night, bring it.
Moths, daddy-long-legs and other large flappy things?
Panic, chest cramping terror.
(NB. For American people who think Daddy Long Legses don’t have wings, they do. Ours do. Yours don’t. Ours are the right ones. We invented English. Glad we could clear that up.)
It’s not the bug-ness, it’s the visible flappyness, the sound of those huge wings battering against the walls, the window, the paperlampshade.
I once read a story book when I was a kid about a woman who turned the light off and woke to find moths settling on “the pale of her face in the moonlight”.
Even writing that, my spine shivers.
I have friends who invite me, with malicious grins, to the local “Butterfly World”.
“They settle in your hair!”
The thought makes me want to piss.
So this installation in Abu Dhabi of thousands of silk butterflies cascading out of the ceiling on strings? Should have quickened my pulse.
But instead, I just took a picture.