There are an awful lot of magpies in these parts, some might say a glut. Perhaps even more than in Cornwall. It was here that a school friend, having been pinched for the upteenth time, declared that as there were so many of these piebald plunderers superstitions didn’t count and from that moment henceforth, in perpetuity (yes, she spoke like that), any spitting, nipping, spinning, counting and greeting was to be banned (she also had delusions). She did have a point though, it was rather time consuming.
Here they often line the garden fence, hopping or lolloping along as suits them, ever vigilant for devilment opportuities. For sport they toss things about, decorative shells, pot lining corks, empty pots and they steal twigs I’ve carefully placed to protect my newly sowed planters. Someone has been plucking out my sempervivum pups, dropping them in random places. I have my suspicions the perp is familiar to me, although have no concrete evidence. Sometimes they are alone, often not. We are thrown from joy to sorrow to boys to girls and even silver and gold on ocassion. Our emotions are frazzled.
This morning I spotted this moth resting on my Pseudopanax lessonii ‘Moas Toes’. After a little googly research I discovered it is a magpie moth. What else could it be?