Waterspouts and hurricanoes. If the moth trap had been out last night it would have floated away. I can't really complain, compared with businesses in York, where the entire Ebor racing festival has been washed out. The Yorkshire economy has been clobbered by the rain for the second year running - last 'summer' it was the Game Fair at Harewood which was cancelled in a sea of mud. Before the rain came, this delicate little Clouded Border paid a call, not into the trap but on to heather nearby. Otherwise, our most exciting visitor was Son of Bob, seen here watching the self-important Huw Edwards boring on in Beijing.
Bob was an enormous spider who boldly came out to join us regularly a few years back. This one is more likely to be great-great-great-grandson of Bob, if Wikipedia is correct in saying that spiders live only a year or two (other than female tarantulas which can apparently reach 20, although Wiki honestly adds 'citation needed' for that alarming fact). Talking of accuracy, Jax suggests that the moths in the entry below are a Rivulet (left) and a Flame Carpet. She's always right, though simply from the illustrations in my book, my diagnosis looks correct. The trouble is, moth patterns vary. It's like that bit in 1066 And All That on the Irish Question where it says that whenever Gladstone got close to the correct answer, the Irish changed the question. Bob's descendant scuttled off gloomily after the TV weather forecast. Please may we have some sun.