Older than the hills

I love these little beasts that every summer colonize the walls of the damp and shady alcove where we keep the dustbins. They are bristletails, an ancient form of insect  related to silverfish (which we also have but indoors) and firebrats, which used to inhabit warm places like bakeries before sanitary regulations hustled them away.

Bristletails, of which there are multitudinous species adapted to every sort of ecological niche, even into the Arctic, have inordinately long antennae,  a trio of bristles at the rear end and flattened bodies which allow them to  wedge themselves in crevices. 
They lead simple lives consuming starchy material and don't get personal with each other; instead the male deposits packets of sperm for the females to pick up and use to inseminate themselves. The young have to moult many times before they reach adult size and can only succeed in doing so if they attach themselves to a hard surface.  Although this seems to make for a challenging lifestyle bristletails are so well adapted that they have never needed to evolve from their fossilized form which, at 390 million years, represents the oldest known insect. 

Seriously, what's not to love about bristletails?