Come-down

It has all been too exciting of late. I've had four ticks in four days, the last of them a bird of utter fabulousness at my local reserve. Just think where it comes from? As a migratory breeder the White-tailed Plover is found no closer than southern Russia, east of the Caspian Sea, a mere 3,000 miles away. 3,000 miles to Rainham, or 3,010 miles to Wanstead? Basically no difference, under half a percent of the total distance travelled. Frankly that's as good as a tick. Yep, I think I'm having that.

I was wondering what might bring us all back down to earth, and naturally thought of a moth. What we need is something small, brown and inherently dull to take our minds off the yellow-legged splendour that was at Rainham.

Anyway, when I checked the trap this morning the only moth photo I took was of a Small Magpie, and being black, white, and yellow, I deemed it too similar to the Plover to have the desired effect. Then a Small Skipper flew past. Aplologies for the orange.