Crook, Durham The butterflies became stupefied drinking liquid seeping from the plums, completely losing their inhibitions
For well over a week now the air under the plum tree has reeked like the dregs of a half-drunk bottle of red wine left opened for a fortnight – alcoholic and vinegary. I can not remember such a good plum crop, ever. After the pies and the jam and the ones that were frozen or given away, the fallen plums could only be left to rot, but I piled some on the bird table in the sun. Soon the red admirals arrived.
“Plum drunk: the red admirals all on board for a last boozy feast” weiterlesen