Washing and whispering

Thanks to the continuing chill, and now damp, the moth trap is mothballed (ho ho), but Penny is more than making up for its absence. She has become Chief Mothspotter of Leeds, and in the most unlikely circumstances. We went for a walk yesterday in Whisperdales, a lovely little valley inland from Scarborough protected against too many visitors by dreary approaches through 'industrial' Forestry Commission plantations. We had a picnic in the sun by Whisper Beck and as we left, Lo!, P spotted this Clouded Drab nestling in a fold of her anorak. The big, and unanswerable, question is: did it creep in from the mixture of primroses, violas and cowslips on the mossy bank where we ate the finest produce of Thomas the Baker's, Helmsley? Or did it come with us from Leeds, thus adding a tiny chapter to the endlessly fascinating story of species distribution within the British Isles? Whichever, its future lies in Whisperdales now.



Back home, P discovered this Brindled Pug on our washing machine. As you can see from its halo, it is also a Holy Moth. That reminds me of Maid Marian on children's TV which used to have us in stitches when the boys were young, especially the episode involving the Holy Hot Waterbottle of St Charlene. Still, there are people who believe these things, so maybe our little moth portends good. A glorious reign of what looks like our coming coalition government? Both our Sainsbury's and my Mum's are in Liberal Democrat seats now - Bradford East and Leeds North West. Their car parks are radiant in the New Dawn and their produce positively glows.