wet, wet, wet

Well it is summer and this is England and the Championships are underway. Could I reasonably have expected anything else? Nothing, nothing, nothing on the wing last night wended its way indoors, and I was too tired* (and it was too soggy) to go out.

Where are all these painted ladies of which other bug hunters write? The Vicky Plum by the kitchen door is beginning to shed its semi-rippened fruit that if left to over ripen and break down will attract all sorts of things (if it should ever dry out a bit and warm up considerably).

*I am still hand sewing the costume.