A landing strip of white canvas is glowing beneath a pulsating false moon of mercury vapour light, visible from a great distance and sufficient to draw in in a large number and variety of Lower Exbury moths (in three hours my mothing mentors, Juliet and Richard counted over fifty different species without naming the micros present).

Small Fan-footed Waves, Large Yellow Underwing, Black Arches, Small Broad-bordered Yellow Underwings, Rosy and dingy Footmen, Sallow Kittens, Ruby Tigers and a host of other evocatively named characters spiralled in to join the party. Boris the puppy, triumphantly bagged a Brimstone before being hauled off early, much to his consternation and confusion.

I shall adapt the same principles of beguilement and attraction later in the month when I attempt to lead legions of lepidoptera  toward the light in the entrance to the Egg.

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