Some time last year (Feb 4th) I started a list of events that seemed to herald the approaching spring and nowhere on that list will you find “first ant in the kitchen”, even though it is something that happens ever year once the days are warm and long.
So it was a surprise that, even before I had time to write about the abundant cascades of catkins in the barren hedgerows and the high sweeps of migrating birds heading north again through the grey skies, an ant was scampering on the draining board.
I mentioned as much to Tess in the supermarket, just after her mum cheekily and blatantly pushed in front of me even though she had almost been at the till in the next lane, and she agreed that something was amiss; Boris the green spider, a frequent summer visitor in her own kitchen has already paid her a visit.
My ant didn’t have a name, or at least not one I knew and I’m afraid he wont be getting one now.
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