‘Keep away, I’m dangerous, my stripes exclaim. But I’m no wasp’: my week as a marmalade hoverfly

Monday

Life is pretty good here in East Finchley Cemetery. I could do with more and bigger wild bits, but the formal gardens still have flowers with pollen and nectar. I grew up here as a mere maggot, feeding on those aphids that trouble humans so much. But now I’m an adult: and the air is my sofa.

Tuesday

A party of people in black clothes passed close to my favourite hovering place. One of them saw me and dragged a smaller one – a child full of maggot ostentation – away from me with horror. “Blimey, that’s all we need.” But I’m not a wasp. I just look like one. Keep away from me, I’m dangerous, my stripes exclaim. But I’m no more dangerous than a floating piece of fluff.

Wednesday

There’s an ancient grave not far from my hover-spot. It bears the name of Henry Bates, and he was a very smart fellow. He saw through our waspy disguise and cracked our secret. We pretend to be fierce so we don’t get eaten. Ooh-er! A wasp! But I’m only a harmless marmalade hoverfly minding my own business. Keep bluffing and hold your nerve! Humans call it Batesian mimicry. I prefer to think of it as marmalade genius.

Thursday

Some of this hovering may look a little pointless to an outsider. But it’s about sex. Eventually. And quite definitely today. This perfect motionless undeviating hover is me at my very best. It means: this place is mine. If you’re male you’d be well advised to hover off somewhere else. And if you’re female... and she was.... well, huzzah!

Friday

Any day now, if all goes well, you’ll see that female hovering in what you might call a marked fashion. Territory doesn’t interest her: she’s looking for the right place to lay the eggs that she and I created.  A place where the supply of aphids is guaranteed, where the maggots can feed – each one will eat 400 in the course of their grubhood – and then pupate. And become hovering geniuses in their turn.

Saturday

I’m at it again. Hope springs eternal in the hoverfly thorax. How does he do it? That was the question of a more discerning mourner today. Since you ask, I work on the same principle that keeps a bumblebee in the air. It’s all about the viscosity of the air: because it’s sticky I can shift about ten times more air than that directly affected by my wings. It’s just another aspect of hoverfly genius.

Marmalade hoverfly

Lifespan A month as an adult

Eating habits Sweet, sweet nectar and a bit of pollen

Hobbies Dynamic stillness

Sexual preferences A gorgeous hoverer

Photograph by Javier Torrent/VW PICS, Universal Images via Getty