Saturday, 8 August 2009

I'm like David Bellamy with no beard

This weekend didn't turn out quite as expected due to the fact that I had a car dilemma which resulted in me having to cancel my plans and stay at home in Oxford. It's not necessarily a bad thing because it means that I can catch up on all those horrible jobs that I have been putting off. Actually, thinking about it, that is a bad thing isn't it? Horrible jobs are horrible for a reason, so cramming them all into a single weekend means that it is probably going to be pants-on-toast.

What's a girl to do? Ummmmmm. after much contemplation, I decided that work-avoidance was the only solution, so pulled on my wellies to take Naughty George (my mutt) for a long walk around the village where I live, Forest Hill just outside of Oxford.

After yomping a couple of miles, I noticed that there appeared to lots of different makes of butterfly knocking about.

I managed to get a couple of photos, but they are flighty little suckers.

First of all I saw a brown butterfly with some spots on its wings (that is not the technical term by the way), and then my absolute favourite....... a red admiral (below).

Then, I started thinking about how hapless a butterfly's life is. First of all you get born as a caterpillar which pretty much means that you are an elongated maggot ...... [with caterpillar mum's best friend noting; 'Jeez marleen, he aint the best looking little 'un............]

Then, after forking out a fortune on shoes because you have six feet, you spend your life ambling from one plant to another, eating random leaves that make the plants in everyone's gardens look scraggy, and rendering you public enemy number 1 as far as humans are concerned.

Now here comes the perplexing bit. Out of the blue, you suddenly develop the technology to 'cocoon' yourself into a pupae. Where did that come from? Have you got a secret flap in your back that we don't know about? Not only that, after having a bit of a kip, you emerge as a ......... butterfly.

And so we arrive at the 'hapless' bit. Previously a caterpillar, the butterfly emerges from the pupae and catching a glimpse of themselves in a mirror exclaims; "blimey! I have turned into a bit of a looker!" They stretch their limbs, shake their wings and holler; "I am like a butterfly version of Megan Fox, except I don't have any tattoos!" [actually this is a three-way irony because Megan Fox has a tattoo on her shoulder saying: “We will all laugh at gilded butterflies.”]

Imagine suddenly turning 'good-looking' overnight. The butterfly is thinking weeeeeyhaaaaaay..... bring it on........ but ............... they only live for a maximum of two weeks. Bummer. By the time they have got used to shaking their booty, they pop their clogs. How unlucky is that?

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