Should it be a rabble, or a bridge?
Red Admirals.
We've got the full Spithead review of them, sunning themselves in the early autumn sun on the west wall, which, curiously for a weather wall, stays warmest longer.
It took me some time to work out the whys and wherefores of their presence, but a little mowing gave me the answer. The fallen pears, which we find pretty well useless, are their nectar. Down amongst the pear sludge there is a Red Admiral feeding frenzy going on.
My heart lifts as I see them there on the old brickwork.
And my loose intentions to buy a cider press, make perry and find at least some use for the pears, become looser still.
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