"The zoo's just rung, they've been donated a beetle found in some packaging...Can we get a picture?” Deep joy, I get to photograph a bug.
Climbing up Dudley Zoo's seven thousand steps to get to the bug house, I wheezed to the keeper “what is it, and what have you called it?” knowing that every little beastie has to be christened before it can be photographed. I assume it's to make them more cuddly, less alien, I mean you wouldn't squash something with your size elevens if it was called Tabitha, would you?
“Clive” is an Asian long horned beetle, which arrived in a consignment of paper from China. Another keeper, the keeper of bugs no less, dived into the back of a small enclosure, and emerged with something dark brown and horny safely enclosed in his giant mitts. I was less than impressed.
I was even less impressed, when, taking advantage of a slightly relaxed grip, Clive took to the wing and headed straight for me. “Oh, you should feel honoured, he doesn't normally do that!” Feeling thus honoured, but desirous of a quick finale to our little intercontinental encounter, lest the horny monster should require a further investigation of my camera bag/trousers/earhole, I took a quick light reading, set the shot up and twelve frames later said tarrah and all the best.
Skipping gaily down Dudley Zoo's seven thousand steps, I mused on the missed opportunity of giving Clive a name that actually had some meaning. If Clive had been an Indian beetle, his name would have been perfect. But Chinese? A Chinese beetle? Surely Wing Ho would have been just the ticket. He would have been a star beetle - Wing Ho. Star.
Oh all right.
I'll get me coat.
Phil
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