Oh dear, a sad story this morning. But then Nature isn't the cosy world which children's anthropomorphic books and pictures may lead us to believe. Don't read on if you are aged under six or of a nervous disposition. What happened was, a Garden Carpet decided to try being a House one, and flew in to our kitchen where Penny and I were having supper. It perched on the sweet peas first - our first crop of the season - and then went to look at its more familiar world through the window where I photographed it again (below). And then... alas, I was so busy admiring the moth, that I forgot that we always light a romantic candle at suppertime (memories of courting days at Il Portico in Victoria, outside P's old office at Cosmo, where she was chief sub-editor under the legendary and wonderful Deirdre McSharry). Candles, flames, moths... I will say no more, except RIP. Oh, and there is a very good discussion of the effects of bright light on moths in E B Ford's Butterflies, in Collin's famous New Naturalist. No doubt millions of words on the web too, which would be well worth trawling. But I am going to have my (non-candlelit) morning tea.
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