Mothra’s still here.

He – or she, I won’t be accused of assuming a moth’s gender thank you very much – has not yet been taken down by our resident insect chaser. I caught a glimpse of the dusty-winged nemesis earlier, just chilling out by the ceiling. I know not where it is now. I just know it could fly past me at any moment.

I actually caught it last night, in a glass. I could feel it slamming against the sides of the vessel as I took it outside. I let it out of the glass, and made to shut the kitchen door.

It fricking flew back in.

I was outsmarted by a moth.

Essentially, at something around midnight last night, I was the crazy person in the street hurling obscenities at something that no-one else would have been able to see. The strange man shouting at the sky and calling it rude names. That was me.

I don’t know, though, if Peppa’s been in training for a showdown. Because there was a dead bird on the patio this evening. I know this primarily because Carole went out to take the garden waste bin round and screamed and came back in without having taken the bin round. I eventually convinced her to take the bin anyway – she didn’t need to go near the bird to do it. So while I was outsmarted by a moth, I do have Derren Brown mind skills.

I have since been out to remove the bird from the patio before it is brought inside by Peppa and left on a pillow.

And you know it wouldn’t be my pillow.

The entire street would be woken up by Carole screaming as she rolls over to find a soggy dead bird next to her freshly opened eyes.

So I’ve dealt with that.

We won’t be waking up to a dead bird.

But there’s still a strong possibility of a half-chewed moth on the stairs…