When I took to this gardening racket last June I entertained high hopes of attracting all sorts of wildlife to my corner of the city centre. Nothing too large like an elephant which would be more hassle than it's worth. No offence to elephants I'm a big fan but face it a couple of them charging around the city would be mayhem. I was hoping for something more like birds, bees and butterflies.
I'm pleased to say the bee count is high -good old bees! You have to hand it to the bees they've got the planet by the balls. One big mass bee suicide and we've had it. Hence why we should all plant more bee friendly flowers and the like, lest we make our buzzing overlords angry. I risked a few petunias this year but cunningly planted only red ones which bees can't see apparently so at least when the bee triggered apocalypse happens it won't be my fault. Oh and no smart arse comments about me letting the cat out the bag and angering the bees with my petunia confession. They won't read it. Bees recognise no human languages, considering themselves too lofty for such rot and having once leafed through The Da Vinci Code I can't help but think they might be on to something.
The bird count is much the same as it always was a million pigeons, too bloody many of those evil gull things, not enough sparrows and the odd starling. The butterflies remain elusive unlike moths who are appearing in such numbers that the Daily Mail is bound to start getting uppity. Just wait till one of them gets done for benefit fraud or converts to Islam. We shall never hear the bloody end of it.
I was out doing a spot of watering at Wilson Street when what can only be described as a battalion of moths enveloped me in a cloud of really boring wings. As attacks go it lacked the air of meance required to make make it even slightly frightening. I couldn't help but sneer at these beige flappers even when the attack was at it's peak. Until I remembered they eat clothes and got off my mark sharpish before their attentions left me nude.
I admit I'm a bit shallow but I just can't get very excited about flying halfwits of the sort of colour my mother paints her house. Horrid pale slurries that they call 'mink' and 'mushroom' on colour charts. Yuck! Give me a nice jolly red anyday.
As I hadn't knowingly planted anything that moths are into I was baffled by their interest in my patch. In fact it hadn't even occured to me that they were into plants, I thought it was all clothes and lightbulbs in the moth community. One minute I was happily watering my seedlings the next I had a face full of disgruntled moths trying to debag me in the street. Anyone who has read Decline and Fall will know what havoc can be wrought on a person by a public debagging. No one ever believes you haven't done it purpose.
I did think the explanation may lie with the supernatural but it turns out the wretched things are mad for chives. What seems to have happened is that they've been hanging round my chives getting up to God knows what and been startled by a sudden drenching from my watering can and attempted a strip attack. Freaks.
Still none of this explains the lack of butterfly action. I've done everything possible to lure the little dandies but they remain elusive. I've racked my brains but I really don't think there was anything else I could have done which calls for a scapegoat. The question is should I blame Gordon Brown, Fred Goodwin or the PC brigade. Answers please.