The hi-viz hedgehog
Erinaceus europaeus fluorescens
A tale of evolution gone pear-shaped …
Erinaceus europaeus fluorescens, The Hi-Viz Hedgehog, is a variety of the European Hedgehog that has evolved a glow-in-the-dark fluorescence so it appears clearly conspicuous when crossing murderous roads. The Hi-Viz Hedgehog’s night-time luminescence beyond doubt saved its bacon from motorists, allowing them ample time (if they were not too distracted by their phone) to hit the brakes, or swerve, so it didn’t end up as a sad, spiky pancake with a trail of squishy internal organs for scavenging buzzards and members of the crow family to pick at and argue over.
Millennials flocked to see this futuristic, buzzworthy ‘experience creature’ and, instead of going down the pub and getting rat arsed as was the time-honoured tradition at a weekend, they sat in their cars in lay-bys with flasks and sandwiches and witnessed this other-worldly, nocturnal event - a bit like watching ‘awesome’ fireflies but a thousand times the firefly’s circumference obvs. “How cute is that!” the Millennials exclaimed at Mother Hi-Viz Hedgepig and her Hi-Viz hoglets who followed obediently behind in an adorbs, orderly line. Yet the “so sick!” climax of the evening was to ogle a pair of fluorescent blobs getting-down-and-dirty and to upload the wobbly, zoomed-in footage online with a running commentary, like “go on my son”, etc …
Erinaceus europaeus fluorescens, The Hi-Viz Hedgehog, is a variety of the European Hedgehog that has evolved a glow-in-the-dark fluorescence so it appears clearly conspicuous when crossing murderous roads. The Hi-Viz Hedgehog’s night-time luminescence beyond doubt saved its bacon from motorists, allowing them ample time (if they were not too distracted by their phone) to hit the brakes, or swerve, so it didn’t end up as a sad, spiky pancake with a trail of squishy internal organs for scavenging buzzards and members of the crow family to pick at and argue over.
Millennials flocked to see this futuristic, buzzworthy ‘experience creature’ and, instead of going down the pub and getting rat arsed as was the time-honoured tradition at a weekend, they sat in their cars in lay-bys with flasks and sandwiches and witnessed this other-worldly, nocturnal event - a bit like watching ‘awesome’ fireflies but a thousand times the firefly’s circumference obvs. “How cute is that!” the Millennials exclaimed at Mother Hi-Viz Hedgepig and her Hi-Viz hoglets who followed obediently behind in an adorbs, orderly line. Yet the “so sick!” climax of the evening was to ogle a pair of fluorescent blobs getting-down-and-dirty and to upload the wobbly, zoomed-in footage online with a running commentary, like “go on my son”, etc …
Nevertheless, the Hi-Viz Hedgehogs stuck out like an inflamed thumb, becoming sitting ducks in the newly invented sport of Hi-Viz Hedgehog baiting*, and a fresh target for Nincompoops that trespassed on farmer’s fields under cover of the night, kitted head to toe in army surplus, camouflage gear to execute anything that drew breath. The hogs’ resplendence was snuffed out, bang by bang, like candles at the end of a dinner party.
Even with all these acts of inhumanity to the enchanting ‘experience creatures’, the population numbers were insanely out of control - according to the pea-brained government, who issued a cull, handsomely paying landowners and nincompoops in army surplus, camouflage gear ten quid a hog hide. The cack-handed government had come up with a half-baked theory (even though there was no scientific evidence) that this variety of hedgehog was unequivocally the new culprit spreading tuberculosis in cattle. All the badgers had been culled yet Bovine Tuberculosis was still rife, so the ham-fisted government simply needed another scapegoat to appease the cattle farmers.
If you are vigilant and lucky, the chances are you might still see a lone, luminescent blob under the moon, snuffling through the coal-black night for worms, beetles and slugs … hopelessly seeking a mate.
*Hi-Viz Hedgehog baiting: A sport that became hip with Boy-racer-sickos. Along solitary, country roads Boy-racer-sickos converged, dolloping tins of cat food on the tarmac and sitting in wait for a wave of hungry hogs. The Boy-racer-sicko who’d flattened the most Erinaceus europaeus fluorescens by dawn would have BH (for Boss Hog) smeared on their forehead in Hi-Viz blood, while the rest of the crew revved their engines. The Boy-racer-sicko who’d flattened the least Erinaceus europaeus fluorescens had to wolf down a tin of Whiskas delicious-meaty-chunks-in-gravy for breakfast, while the rest of the crew revved their engines.
Even with all these acts of inhumanity to the enchanting ‘experience creatures’, the population numbers were insanely out of control - according to the pea-brained government, who issued a cull, handsomely paying landowners and nincompoops in army surplus, camouflage gear ten quid a hog hide. The cack-handed government had come up with a half-baked theory (even though there was no scientific evidence) that this variety of hedgehog was unequivocally the new culprit spreading tuberculosis in cattle. All the badgers had been culled yet Bovine Tuberculosis was still rife, so the ham-fisted government simply needed another scapegoat to appease the cattle farmers.
If you are vigilant and lucky, the chances are you might still see a lone, luminescent blob under the moon, snuffling through the coal-black night for worms, beetles and slugs … hopelessly seeking a mate.
*Hi-Viz Hedgehog baiting: A sport that became hip with Boy-racer-sickos. Along solitary, country roads Boy-racer-sickos converged, dolloping tins of cat food on the tarmac and sitting in wait for a wave of hungry hogs. The Boy-racer-sicko who’d flattened the most Erinaceus europaeus fluorescens by dawn would have BH (for Boss Hog) smeared on their forehead in Hi-Viz blood, while the rest of the crew revved their engines. The Boy-racer-sicko who’d flattened the least Erinaceus europaeus fluorescens had to wolf down a tin of Whiskas delicious-meaty-chunks-in-gravy for breakfast, while the rest of the crew revved their engines.
The Two-fingered Stinkhorn
Phallus packhamii
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Phallus packhamii, commonly known as The Two-fingered Stinkhorn, the first punk fungi recorded by science, is named in honour of wildlife expert, TV presenter and target for sociopaths Chris Packham. It was discovered in Essex by Roger the Labradoodle and his man-slave owner, Mr. H. Whittington. At first envisaging the aroma came from a putrefying, murdered corpse, Mr Whittington was most cheered it wasn’t a badly dismembered hand but more than a little taken aback by the stinky culprit’s rather rude gesticulation.
Why you might ask is this particular species with its gnarly, knuckled, primitive fungus fingers doing the abusive V-sign? The answer to that riddle is clear as day - celebrity chefs and foragers! One might say the culpability lies solely with one “Yes chef!” Marcus Wareing who instigated the fad for Phallus impudicus* or Common Stinkhorn. For obvious reasons, Stinkhorn was usually not consumed, however, some daredevil foragers will tuck into the immature, egg-shaped, fruiting body before the horn (which can grow up to 25 cm tall) springs forth and is crawling in flies attracted to the rotting stench emitted from the bell-shaped head. The raw inside of the egg, by all accounts, tastes of crunchy radish. |
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Back to “Yes chef!” Marcus Wareing who pushed Stinkhorn to the culinary limit when he provocatively cleaned dirt from a bundle of Phallus fruiting bodies with a tissue on Masterchef and pan roasted them whole with a hefty, heart attack wedge of butter then served the dish upon posh toast (the BBC received six complaints).
Overnight a section of avaricious foragers went out on a heedless, rabid rampage throughout the land hunting for this rustic bounty. They peddled their plundered horn in black bin bags to fine dining restaurants for princely sums. One restaurant, La Mirage, boasted an entire tasting menu of seven dishes comprised exclusively of Stinkhorn: Essence of Stinkhorn (its smokey stench contained under a glass dome and the smoke released to tickle your nostrils); Stinkhorn Consommé; Stinkhorn Gel; Textures of Stinkhorn; Stinkhorn Three Ways; Stinkhorn Sous Vide and Stinkhorn Ice Cream. Folk-with-more-brass-than-sense would be on a waiting list for months just to be able to crow to one another about the hottest ‘on fleek’ gastronomic experience. Mustering all the twaddle they could, they fibbed to their other friends with more-brass-than-sense that they had been ‘so’ overwhelmed, ‘so’ positively intoxicated by the myriad of delicate taste sensations from each umami morsel, theatrically presented upon a forest floor of dried beech leaves, or balanced with such artistry on a moss and lichen covered branch, etc. |
The finale of the evening, the dessert course, was pushing it for most of the folk-with-more-brass-than-sense, for perched atop the beautifully quenelled ice cream and half hidden under the elaborate spun sugar dome were not seasonally foraged, juicy blackberries but dead flies - their little hairy legs frozen for time immemorial in the air! Food critic Jay Rayner had a right good old rant in his restaurant review of La Mirage in The Observer. To cut to the chase, “downright farce” and “emperor’s new clothes” were the robust words he used in his review. The folk-with-more-brass-than-sense cancelled their bookings and La Mirage restaurant shut its doors before you could say “Yes chef”!
The fanatical craze for Phallus impudicus or Common Stinkhorn petered out and, along with it, so did its lineage, yet another species for the Red List*. Today the species is extirpated* in the UK and our new species, Phallus packhamii, commonly known as The Two-fingered Stinkhorn, rules its old stronghold, standing proudly erect in the crisp, autumnal leaf litter - ‘UP YOURS!’ *Phallus impudicus: Literally meaning shameless phallus. *Red List: The critically endangered species list. *Extirpated: Local extinction. |
The Weed that Turned Blue
Taraxacum officinale var. caeruleum,
or Taraxacum 'Rhapsody in Bohemian Blue'
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One bone of contention and a constant source of wrath for gardeners (or councils for that matter!) are weeds* and the one particular colour that a high percentage of people can’t seem to stomach is yellow. Imagine existing in the tap-rooted shoes of an innocent weed and being a vile yellow - such is Taraxacum officinale, the Dandelion! Victimised for germinating into existence and feeding bees (who are pretty much reliant on them when there’s hardly anything else in flower in early spring), and delighting kiddywinks puffing away on its intricately structured, seed-head clocks. The yellow weed didn’t intentionally plan to destroy your life by being carried along on a breeze, its seed parachuting down and taking root in a crack in your patio or your monoculture lawn. What if this invading immigrant could change its colour to something else more pleasing to the eye … maybe an agreeable shade of blue?
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Would your perception of the whole plant be altered? Will you still arm yourself with a poison gun to eradicate the interloper? Might it be a welcome weed, something beautiful that you would seasonally look forward to, admire its blooms and allow it to self seed willy nilly? Could a plant variety that occurred naturally in the wild, without human intervention, be claimed as a company’s intellectual property and be marketed and sold under a frivolous name in garden centre chains? Can you erase the fact that it is still a weed at heart and that it has only changed its colour, and possibly treat the common yellow variety (which hasn’t cleverly altered its colour to be more appealing to humans to ensure its survival) any differently now that you look upon the blue variety fondly? Perhaps the bee population will surge in numbers when a greater percentage of the Dandelion population isn’t being sprayed with toxins.
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This is not make believe … blue Dandelions have been reported sprouting up in patios, driveways, pavement cracks and lawns the length and breadth of the country. Seeds are currently being sold on a well-known auction site for ludicrous amounts. How Does your Garden Grow Ltd. have claimed ownership of it, professing the world’s first Blue Dandelion was ‘developed’ by them through years of careful breeding and they are presently in the middle of hundreds of legal prosecutions. May I present to you The Weed that Turned Blue, Taraxacum officinale var.caeruleum, or Taraxacum ‘Rhapsody in Bohemian Blue’ (PBR)*.
*Weeds: A wild plant growing where it is not wanted and in competition with cultivated plants. *(PBR): Plant Breeders' Rights - propagation for resale prohibited. |
The Onion Moths
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Onion Moths, or Cepa Moths, are a group of intricately patterned and exquisitely coloured moths. Their daytime resting habitat has historically been strimmed to extinction by local councils but they have cunningly evolved to be able to camouflage themselves on litter, and in the case of the Onion Moth, specifically on varieties of onion flavoured potato and maize-based snacks. The most frequent and common species encountered is Cepa walkerii, The Walkers Onion Moth. It is usually to be found in abundant numbers, nestling one-moth-per bag, ensnared in the recesses of twiggy hedge bottoms.
Cepa moths are so adept at blending into their plastic environment that they go largely undetected - even so, you would be extremely fortunate to stumble across one of the UK’s rarest Onion Moth residents, the imperial purple Conditaneus cepa monstrum, or Pickled Onion Monster Moth. It’s hypothesized that its scarcity is down to supermarkets not normally selling this maize-based, fun-shaped-monster snack in single packets in the sandwich aisle but more commonly in multi-packs, so the chances are they will be scoffed down at home and not on the go. Another Onion Moth that is particularly thin on the ground is Rubrum cepa kettleii, the cheddary hued Red Onion Kettle Moth. It’s thought this paucity is due to the crisp being a ‘connoisseur’s’ or ‘posh crisp’ and its stereotypical purchaser wouldn’t dream of tossing away litter unless it unwittingly tumbled from their coat pocket. |
Clockwise from top:
Conditaneus cepa monstrum, The Pickled Onion Monster Moth Rubrum cepa kettleii, The Red Onion Kettle Moth Cepa walkerii, The Walkers Onion Moth Cepa disco, The Discos Onion Moth 
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There are many subspecies* of Onion Moths that are nearly impossible to tell apart because of the similarity of fonts and pigmentation. These can only be reliably identified by Cepaophiles* but even they squabble amongst themselves over the number of subspecies there might actually be in existence. The most bewildering subspecies is the Onion Ring Moth … “now is it Cepa circulum tescoii, perhaps a Cepa circulum sainsburyii, or a Cepa circulum morrisonsii?”.
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*Subspecies: a subdivision of a species.
*Cepaophiles: People with an oracle-like knowledge of Cepa Moths, often found avidly poking around in the recesses of twiggy hedge bottoms. |
The Mistletoe and Wine Bat
Plecotus auritus nativitatis
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The Mistletoe and Wine Bat, Plecotus auritus nativitatis, is a variety of Brown Long-Eared Bat that brings untold joy to humankind, making each passing day feel mega-spesh like it’s Christmas day. It resembles less a demonic bloodsucker and more a Christmas decoration, with its wings purposely ajar like a static flasher to reveal its jolly jumper motif, making for great social media-cute content.
In reality this merry denizen of our towns and cities, contrary to popular belief, wasn’t fashioned by natural selection for our amusement - having been acclimatised to light by perpetually-on street lighting, it is, in fact, no longer nocturnal and appears in broad daylight. And as the author Mr Bram Stoker gave the bat such a black-hearted character assassination, its furry pelt has mutated to mimic a whole host of novelty Christmas jumper patterns. All this handiwork from nature, only so humans aren’t totally freaked out when encountering the flying fiend in daylight hours, flapping round and hanging from tree branches, telephone wires or washing lines. |
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As this winsome bat typically comes out of hibernation* when spring arrives in March or April, some humans are understandably getting pretty fed up of having their bah-humbug faces rubbed in all this joviality months before the big event, so the yuletide bats are often dealt with by being water cannoned from their daytime perches with garden hoses, pressure washers and kids’ large, pump-action, water pistols, and told in no uncertain terms to go and hang upside down from somebody else’s flaming cherry tree and parade their Christmas bollocks!
A Christmas rebellion of sorts does seem to be afoot of late. Christmas tree sales and the consequential dumping of their brown carcasses in January on pavements and alleyways (for somebody else to deal with) are significantly down, as are sales of all manner of Christmas tat*. Over the last festive period, TV adverts indoctrinating us with their perfumery and perfect party, show-stopping snackery spreads and the annual trimming up* have commenced when they should in December and not at the end of September. |
Maybe, after all, it was nature’s intention to concoct The Mistletoe and Wine Bat especially for us so called intelligent-consumer-life-forms to unshackle us from our bondage to CHRISTMAS!
🛒🛍🎄🎁☃️🎅🏻🦇🧛🏼♂️🙏🏽🍷🍺🦃🧻 *Hibernation: Coincides with the dark days when folk traipse around tripping over their doleful faces because the bat isn’t there to make glad their day. *Christmas tat: Cheap items of bad quality, usually made from plastic. *Trimming up: vb. to decorate or embellish by adding ornaments, contrasting materials, etc. to trim a Christmas tree, e.g.: "Have you trimmed up yet?", "We trimmed up at the weekend." |