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A mighty conflict has been going on in my head between, on the one hand, conscience and on the other imagination/motivation. I suppose ‘mighty conflict’ is a bit hyperbolic, over the top even, but when one doesn’t have to worry about a boss or paying the mortgage little niggles can become big niggles.
I bet JRR never dreamt that little ‘Niggle’ would turn into a bloody great big niggle when they strung the films out over how many Christmases?
Anyway, back to the plot. My niggle was finding something, anything, to stick up in a post. The old grey matter was not cooperating! Days passed! Then, this morning, there it was staring me in the face – a Cockchafer! No, no! Not a worn out ‘athletic support’ as we used to call them in polite circles.
I’m referring to to the real McCoy – Melolontha melolontha aka the Common Cockchafer, a fine and rather handsome beetle! He, for indeed he was a he, was lying on his back (a very common position for this species) legs waving in the air and looking very forlorn.
Beetles, having started their evolutionary journey about 300 million years ago, have done very nicely until encountering a problem with Homo sapiens and their, roughly, 6000 year-old ‘civilisation’! Flat, smooth surfaces are a pain in the back when one has landed on one’s arse and there is nothing to get a grip of in order to perform a forward flip! I mean, one just lies there, waving one’s legs in the air and looking stupid!
When seen with their best feet forward Cockchafers are a pretty photogenic lot.
This is George. How do I know this is he and not Georgina? because George has seven ‘feathers’ on his antenna whilst Georgina has only six. Why does he need so many? Good question and as you have probably already sussed it has everything to do with ‘Makin’ Whoopee’. When the fancy takes Georgina she pumps out the pheromones and George, who’s usually hanging about on the off-chance of a bit on the side, will get those antenna tuned in anywhere up to a couple of miles away! Day or night it’s all the same to our bug-eyed Romeo and he will track this amorous lady down – even if it kills him! Love, they say is blind, and certainly where Cockchafers, brick walls and smooth patios are concerned it can lead to a frustratingly long, slow decline of the libido.
So, when (not if) you next see George on his back with his libido limp and his legs in the air do him a favour and jack him up the right way, find him a tree and wish him ‘Better luck next time, mate!’ because, after all it’s a miracle that he’s got as far as he has.
Alan Fenn, indulging in some Coleopteraphilia.
ps here’s a bit of Ella ‘Makin’ Whoopee’.