You know that situation where you keep putting something off because you want to do it really well, but the more you put it off, the more it hangs over you and the harder it becomes to do it at all? So it is with this here blog: it’s never far from one’s thoughts – in fact, it looms over every waking moment. It has become the monkey on the back of legend.

At a time like this, there’s only one thing for it. In the words of that well-known global sporting-goods empire, it’s time to stop prevaricating, cease beating about the bush, desist from shilly-shallying, and ‘just do it’. Whoever their ad agency was, they really hit it out of the park with this one. They really are wise words — come in useful all the time.

So here we are, and suddenly it’s winter. There was a night last week when the temp dropped to zero, seemingly out of nowhere — and with it, our expectations of a nice balmy indian summer were dashed. Let me put it in a way that readers of these pages will recognise: let’s illustrate this point through butterflies.

Remember if you will my frustration at the elusive female common brown. The males were everywhere, posing (or displaying) their plumage wherever required for photographic immortalisation — but the females, whose colouring is arguably more interesting, would take off, gain altitude, and keep flying. I lusted after a good photo opportunity. I walked for miles; I sneaked around; I tried different times of day, different locations, the element of surprise, the element of low cunning. All to no avail.

And then of course, things changed. The males were fewer and further between — and the females seemed to be everywhere, chilling out, taking their time, displaying those finely demarcated colours wantonly for the probing lens. Yet again, what had been rare and sought-after became commonplace and familiar.

As ever, it’s tempting to derive a little life-lesson from this experience, but I’m not falling for that. It’s not about waiting patiently for the eternal cycles of nature to deliver its bounty. If anything, it’s about being pig-headedly persistent in chasing after something pointless despite all evidence telling you to give up.

The same thing happened with the rather lovely meadow argus, which began to appear in larger numbers, obligingly occupying well-lit and picturesque blossoms to be immortalised in my ageless pixels. They even jostled with wasps and bees for the more nectar-laden prizes, nicely illustrating the ceaseless drive for life that animates every living thing.

After this, butterflies took a back seat, partly because the birds were going crazy about the late-summer bounty of berries and fruit, so stalking them was much more rewarding. And really, I’d seen enough of all the available lepidopterae and had begun to find pursuing them rather tedious.

There had been hints of more. Once, strolling along the path that lies between the Bombay Road and Flood Creek (where Archie loves to run and fossick about), I saw a large black shape heading toward me with all the majesty and martial intent of a Vulcan bomber. As it came on, a pattern of white materialised on its wings, which were of a distinctly swallowtailed configuration. It wasn’t one of the many varieties of brown! It passed so close I was momentarily tempted to swat it out of the air — I’d come out without a camera and I may never see its like again. But that seemed unsporting and not very environmentally friendly, so on it went into the bush, disappearing as imposingly as it had arrived.

Ruing my idiocy for coming out without the means of capturing the phenomenon, I comforted myself that it wouldn’t have been possible to photograph it on the wing anyway. Archie and I made our way through a series of S-bends in the path — and there it was again, settled in optimal position on a bush! I could even see two orange spots at the base of its tail. Taking out my phone, I advanced on it, determined to get as good a picture as I could before it flew off again. Which it did.

Later research revealed this beauty to be an orchard swallowtail. I waited confidently for more to appear, like all those brown ones. And they never bloody did.

So there we were, Archie and I, taking our daily constitutional along the same path. I was particularly concerned to ensure he didn’t roll in something malodorous, or run out into Bombay Road if I looked away for a second. And then my spidey sense told me that something different was at hand. Out of the corner of one eye, something moved on a nearby bush. Another magnificent beast. A large, lovely, cool-as-a-cucumber Monarch! With oodles of time, the camera came up, framed the shot, and captured the beast. Then it flew up and over my head, disappearing into who knows where.

And that night, the temp dropped to freezing and the butterflies pretty much disappeared. And with them, the summer. Time to hunker down around the fireplace with a bowl of pea and ham soup.