Dialogue: Picking my way closer to Darwin

By ROANNE PARKER

The Darwinian theory of evolution is hard to refute when you have had a big night around the bars in town and seen personifications of his sketches slobbering around with Heineken in hand.

It is hard for me to understand the furore Darwin's conclusions create in Victorian society.

Modern monkey-men aside, my heart always skips with primeval recognition when I see National Geographic footage of a black gorilla mum gently cradling her baby or an orang-utan picking through the fur of her offspring. It is clear that I am them and they are me.

Over the past year I have begun to get even closer to my primate past as I sit aping that orang-utan in my children's bathroom. I remove the nits but I want to clarify that I draw the line at eating them.

Nits have let me get closely acquainted with the crowning glories of Miss Six and Miss Eight. I can describe every strand on their heads. I have even given names to each one. What about you, Gertrude, do you have a little piggy-backer?

It has improved our relationship so much, that twice-weekly session, they sitting with my legs wrapped around their shoulders (I got that from the World Wrestling Federation) so they cannot get away while I pick, pluck and preen.

It is meditative. You get into the rhythm and the girls squawk away in a regular fashion. Wonderful.

I am sure it has helped increase the respect their teachers feel for me, too, seeing these girls so beautifully coiffed, complete with little white dots and black crawlies around the scalp.

They are tricky little fellows - little cling-ons that hide until you think you have them beat.

I have pictured them laughing their wriggly little legs off when I go away with a pathetic sense of victory. Then the next week when I go back to have another check, bingo, they jump out and squeak "surprise" and no doubt run away kacking themselves.

Oh yeah, guys, so funny my ribs are still hurting.

It is lucky that I have nothing better to do than give all my hard-earned dosh to the chemist. They see me coming and get all the latest potions out and line them up on the counter under a big sign that says, "Perfect For Killing Pesky Lice".

They have run out of new products that are actually nit-killers, so they help me choose from the other stuff, such as foot odour powder and French perfume. I swear, if you tell me it will kill nits, I will buy it.

I have heard tales of cans of Black Flag and flagons of kerosene being emptied on to small children's heads, which sounds terribly dangerous. I am not at that stage, yet.

I am not an earth mother as such, but I certainly never drank a drop of alcohol while I was pregnant, or took any pain relievers for any of their natural births. I breastfed for months and stewed organic apples flat out, so when the first nits appeared, there was no way I would risk exposing the children to easily absorbed poisons. I went straight to the natural therapies.

In no particular order, I have bought and applied carefully, as per enclosed directions, the offerings of Mr Nits, Nitwitz, My Lice, and Lice Blaster. I shelled out for Dolphin Clinic's range, figuring that although dolphins are unlikely to be bothered by nits, it must be harmless because it is sold in a little old-fashioned brown bottle. Abso-bloody-lutely useless the lot of them.

I tried an aromatherapy oil called - get this - Lice Scents to Kill. Cute name, but abso-bloody-useless. I tried the much-lauded zapper comb. It gave off a satisfying zzzsssst sound as it electrocuted left right and centre, but still a breeding pair would escape the frying.

By this stage I was so frustrated I knew somebody was going to die, and in a bid to protect my innocent children I turned my urges from homo to insecticidal. In desperation, I marched on to the big guns. I discovered what was needed was stuff with ugly rather than cute names. I needed to move from Mr Nits to permethrin and d-phenothrin and an organophosphate called malathion.

We seem to be free of our little pals at the moment, but I am armed with a plethora of products just in case.

It is a nightmare. I often dreamed about a nit clinic where I could drop the children off and collect them nit-free an hour later.

Or a mobile trailer service, like the dog wash. Perhaps we could leave the kids next to the primate cages and the zoo could get the apes to work for their keep.

Or maybe next time I will take them with me to those trendy nightspots. I am sure Darwin would approve.