Writing is hard enough without all the chirping
There are few things more annoying than having a noisy cricket in the house that you just can't find
It's 9.33pm and I'm in a house in a vineyard in Barrydale on the edge of the Karoo with two other people and we are locked in a battle to the death, partly with each other, partly with a common foe. I haven't slept in three days. Worst of all, there's a cricket.
I don't know what kind of crickets they breed out here but they are wily and loud. They make a shrill, metallic screech: part steam-whistle, part swinging metal sign outside a petrol station on a forgotten side-road in the dusty American West, circa 1963. On Friday, when we arrived, I quite liked it...