A Late Surprise, and Young Telemachus

After a spectacular butterfly summer, there has been very little action since the rains and winds of early autumn put a sudden end to the season. Even now, when we're enjoying a little taste of Indian summer (here, at least), there is little flying, apart from the indomitable whites, speckled woods and red admirals. I was certainly not expecting to see any butterflies as I trudged across the Beacon Park playing fields yesterday afternoon, having just dropped the youngest grandson off at Squirrels (the most junior division of the Scouting movement). Then, from nowhere, came a flash of unmistakable orange-yellow and there, flying a zigzag path at high speed – they're always on their way to somewhere else – was a (male) Clouded Yellow! My second of the year – which is one/two more than most years – and a glorious surprise, especially flying this late. I went on my way with an idiot grin on my face. But enough of butterflies. With the film of the Odyssey still being talked about – and, it…

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