We can no longer call it festival season. It’s more of a diary block.
There’s not a single day in the whole year that doesn’t somewhere involve women in kimonos and men playing ukuleles in a field.
It is festivall the time. And that’s not just great news for those who make organic cider, falafels, and those fabric wristbands (seriously: those bracelet guys must be minted).
It’s good for us all. We should spend more time communing with the countryside. And coughing up two hundred quid to stand in a cowpat is what Mother Nature would want.
We love nature. We are forever being told how great the outdoors is. So I want to know why so much of it, nature that is, if it’s so great outdoors, wants to come inside my house?
I’m currently sharing my office with two Red Admiral butterflies.
Brown and black wings with red bands and spots blur past me.
They’re clearly incensed that it’s dark outside and light in here. My guests are the extreme sports pros of the butterfly world – smashing themselves against every surface in this room.
Did you know a butterfly creates a palpable breeze if it goes past you quick enough? I do. It’s quite stressful. I feel responsible for them.
I could try and catch them but I tried that with a moth and it turned to dust in my hands. Then I cried. And bleached my palms.
My indoors is the festival hotspot of the natural world. There are ants queuing on my windowsill. A woodlouse in my house.
That red streak on the butterfly is a VIP wristband. I opened the fridge and found a spider in there. I closed the door before I could confirm if it had a ukulele.
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