The sun’s been out, and so have the butterflies. So far, this troubled, though blue-skied April has belonged to the orange-tips, those pure white little butterflies with the tangerine-tipped wings. For weeks they have been fluttering in and out of the garden, questing round the flowers. On our daily walks, they’ve often led the way, winging purposefully along the hedges at a good jogging pace. They’ve even accompanied me cycling around the back lanes, inspecting the verges. Strong winds don’t seem to deter their continual search.