English weather... What can you say? Yesterday, it rained from dawn to dusk, including on many Jubilee events. This morning, the sun is shining brightly. No wonder we chatter on about it.
Rain put paid to any trapping last night, but my moths today are inanimate ones because of some Jubilee Spring-cleaning. Penny and I uncovered a stash of primary school, and earlier, artwork by our sons and inevitably got completely diverted. What a surprise to find that some of their pictures were moth and butterfly-related...
Above is a piece by Tom, for example, with a moth so cheerful that it might overcome any residual fears among observers about holes in their cashmere sweaters or small brown things burrowing into their ears (neither habit remotely prevalent among 99.9 recurring percent of UK moths). And below, a butterfly coloured and cut out with commendable care - along with a scrap of real moth: an underwing of a long-departed Yellow Underwing.
These are as common in Spring-cleaning indoors as fragments of blue Victorian china are when you dig over part of any UK garden. I often wonder about the latter. Was there a 19th century imperial disaster - Isandlwana? Gordon at Khartoum? - when everybody went outside and smashed their crockery?
Rain put paid to any trapping last night, but my moths today are inanimate ones because of some Jubilee Spring-cleaning. Penny and I uncovered a stash of primary school, and earlier, artwork by our sons and inevitably got completely diverted. What a surprise to find that some of their pictures were moth and butterfly-related...
Above is a piece by Tom, for example, with a moth so cheerful that it might overcome any residual fears among observers about holes in their cashmere sweaters or small brown things burrowing into their ears (neither habit remotely prevalent among 99.9 recurring percent of UK moths). And below, a butterfly coloured and cut out with commendable care - along with a scrap of real moth: an underwing of a long-departed Yellow Underwing.
These are as common in Spring-cleaning indoors as fragments of blue Victorian china are when you dig over part of any UK garden. I often wonder about the latter. Was there a 19th century imperial disaster - Isandlwana? Gordon at Khartoum? - when everybody went outside and smashed their crockery?
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