My long torpor in posting has been ended by my irrepressibly entomological granddaughter who demanded that I light the lamp last night. She was rewarded with these three moths, three more than her aged grandpa was expecting.
They conformed nicely to the three types of Mottled Umber shown in the Moth Bible, although she was outraged by the flightless, unimpressive role allocated to the female. I tried to console her with suggestions that the latter led a safer and more comfortable life than her menfolk but in vain. At nine, you want to fly.
Happy New Year all! Martin Wainwright, Thrupp, Oxon
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