Just a postscript (or maybe that should be postpost) to my last post really. I didn’t know until my son told me that thunderflies are thrips. I’d heard of thrips but never connected them with thunderflies.
And did you know that thrips is a word like sheep? Both singular and plural so even one on its own (as if) would be called a thrips.
I don’t mind them at all, even when they are in my photo frames and gathering in great numbers in the cobwebs (and thus drawing attention to them) – I don’t even mind the drifts of them on the window sills, but I do find it irritating when they are crawling about on my scalp and across my glasses. But they don’t bite or sting and as insects go are pretty benign.
They’re actually quite fascinating. I mean just imagine the size of a thrips egg for a start! And they have asymmetrical mouthparts with no right mandible. I looked them up on Google.
I also wondered how many we eat or inhale by accident and how many would you have to eat to get any nutritional value from them. Not that I should wonder about such things as I’m a vegetarian.
It’s still stiflingly hot. The trouble is we’re just not used to it – we’re programmed to sit huddled under umbrellas complaining about the rain and cold, particularly in summer! We could get used to the heat given time, but just about the time when we do, the weather will change and we’ll be moaning about having to turn the heating on again.
Which reminds me, I was reading reviews of some garden furniture on the Argos website and some reviewers were complaining that having bought their garden furniture, the weather had turned bad and they hadn’t been able to use it – and they had therefore had to give the furniture a low score.
We had a thunderstorm on Thursday night – I knew it was coming when I woke up with Tilly sitting on my head. For some reason she thinks she’ll be safe there. It gets very hot underneath 18 kilos of panting, panicking Springer spaniel!
And I have to pretend not to be scared for her sake. She doesn’t like loud noises bless her – unless she’s making them. There was a bluebottle in my bedroom this morning and while her brother tried to catch it, she hid under the bed.
I should get back to my story – the eleven lines I’ve written are looking a tad lonely.