I thought that they were those little tiny flying bugs that get into everything. If you've spent any amount of time in the country, you'll know which ones I'm talking about. The ones that come in at night and annoy you. The ones that are attracted to white surfaces. The ones that die in inconvenient and unsightly numbers for no discernable reason, collecting along your skirting boards and window sills:
But then I realised that if they WERE those particular bugs, that a) it was unusual that they were alive at this time of day, and b) that they had all chosen to hang out on the ceiling.
So then I looked closer.
So I've gone and done a public service* for whomever stays in this cabin next and squashed most of them. I left a few for a daddy long legs to eat - he'd already tucked into one - and smooshed the rest with a towel. When they realised what was going on they started to abseil off the ceiling but I was too quick for 'em!
*Public service (n): an act primarily directly benefiting myself (because I know it to be likely that I will be the next person to stay in this cabin), with the secondary effect of benefiting anybody else who happens along. Dictionary of the Ness, December 2010. Note that definition may alter from time to time as suits.