Here's another Red Admiral interlude, while I catch up with my ever-growing backlog of moths. This butterfly flew into our greenhouse while the granddaughter and friends were treading our grapes to make fruit juice at the weekend.
The said granddaughter spotted him or her high up in the vine. That's her questing finger, above. Shortly afterwards, the scent of crushed grapes was simply too much for the beautiful insect and down she swooped, for the all the world like a downmarket version of a Purple Emperor on one of its occasional descents from the oak canopy to feast off rotting fruit or dog poo.
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All threats from children, clumsy feet or me were forgotten, as it unrolled its proboscis and sipped avidly away.
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