spookiest parts of our city where the river Aire turns into the Styx and winds beneath the City Station in a labyrinth of brick-lined tunnels. It's been titivated in recent years and renamed Granary Wharf but the old name persists. Rather as when the Guardian's former Northern Editor Harry Whewell was rung up to be told that in future Manchester's famous Midland Hotel would be known as the Majestic Renaissance Midland, or whatever, and replied laconically: "Not by me it won't."
It's been a catch of pairings, too. Here's one of the first Dun-bars of the season with a micro, almost invisible in the gloomy, Dark Arches-like recesses of the eggbox cone at the right of the picture. I haven't identified that yet and may never do so. And, below, a pretty little Marbled Minor with a minute companion and its slip showing. Veritably a moth Juliet.