An unreliable memoir

The Sycamore

The Sycamore
In a meeting, when someone says There’s a wasp on your back, is the socially-correct response to:
a) Yell OMG, GET IT OFF GET IT OFF and start windmilling your arms around?
b) Pass out?
c) Say Oh, what species is it?
Clearly, the correct answer isn’t (c), as I found out a few days ago. Seemingly what this does is to get you lots of funny looks and rapidly earn you a reputation as a golfloathingrugbyhatinglentilknittingyoghurtsnackingbunnyhuggingweirdo.

The funny looks scenario played itself out again yesterday when I met this beautiful Sycamore moth caterpillar while walking home across the park. It was clearly on a mission, trundling down a busy path and oblivious to the bike types whizzing past, but I judged the probability of death by rubber to be unacceptably high so I transferred it to one of the London Planes where it headed upwards, presumably looking for somewhere to pupate. See you next year my friend. Unaccountably, rather than public approval, I found myself in the golfloathingrugbyhatinglentiletc situation with the passers by. Aren’t people weird?

The Sycamore, Acronicta aceris. iPhone 5s 4.15mm f2.2 1/277 ISO 32

 

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