Tag Archives: Bees

The Burrs And The Bees

17 Aug

My niece and nephew are staying with us for two weeks.  To celebrate, I thought I’d repost the story of their visit two years ago.

I haven’t written much about the nephew and niece because they haven’t done much except play on the PS3 and sigh at the rain, but it finally cheered up enough for me, the niece and nephew, Spud, Spud’s friend and the dogs to take a walk along the Pennine Trail yesterday.  Not much happened that is worth blogging about, unless you want to hear how a horse mistook Spud’s fingers for grass and nipped him; how Spud was freaked out by a slug staring him in the face as he hid in the grass during a game of commando; and the nephew, thinking he was doing a good thing, killed a bumble bee that landed on the friend.  If you don’t want to hear about any of that, it’s too late because I’ve already written it and you’ve already read it.

The nephew was mortified when I told him he was going to jail as it is against the law to kill a bumble bee in this country.  Furthermore, his valiant act was in vain because bumble bees don’t sting and even if they did, only when attacked, and this one had just mistaken the friend for a flower and it’s a bit mean to kill something because it thinks you’re a flower.  Once he was penitent and contemplating a rush for the Mexican border, I eased off the guilt throttle, satisfied that the nephew would never again kill an innocent bee that was just doing its bit for the planet.  I could see he now preferred the death of a thousand non-stings to a reproachful look from Auntie Tilly.

I know you are wondering if this photo is evidence of my rage, but he actually did this to himself.  Playing football on tarmac in the rain is dangerous enough, but he thought it would be a good idea to take advantage of the three minutes of sunshine that escaped on Wednesday afternoon, and took off his shirt.  Having put it down, he turned, ran for the ball, slipped on the wet tarmac and went head over bee-killing heels before sliding along on his back and messing up the gravel.  He was quite shaken up, and this is a thirteen-year old boy who bats for an adult cricket team, so it must have stung a bit.

A couple of paracetamol, liberal doses of antiseptic and an Auntie Tilly hug and he was all better, but he kept reappearing in my personal space to show me the bruise on the knee, scrape on the ankle, rib lacerating the shoulder that he hadn’t noticed earlier.  It was inevitable that he’d have to pay it forward.  I guess that bee just had bad karma.

I’ve Been Here Beefore

24 Apr

I am still working on my project but not today, because I’ve been out all morning and I’m going out again tonight.  I can’t leave you with nothing so I offer you a re-hashed something which I hope is better than nothing.  This is an edited repost of two previous posts from a couple of years ago.  I wrote a poem about bees which is on my other blog, and people seemed to like it, leading me to conclude that bees are maybe not bad, after all, possibly. 

And it took me so long to write that introduction, I could have written something original.  Ah well.

"What does the letter "A" have ...

"What does the letter "A" have in common with a flower?" ~ They both have Bees coming after them~ (Photo credit: turtlemom4bacon)

I have had some bee issues this weekend, as in, what be you doing here in my house, bee?  The same bee tried four times to park in our bathroom.  The Hub put it out each time and closed the window after the fourth time – just what you want on a warm spring day: a closed toilet window….  Even as I had my bath I could hear it buzzing for entry.  The Hub said it also tried the bedroom window but was defeated by the net curtain.

I think bees and ants send out scouts, looking for a place to set up home and terrify the residents, like gangs moving into the hood.  I was lying in the bath thinking about this and wondering if other unmentionable insects – unmentionable because it gives me the heebie-jeebies just thinking about them – do the same thing, when I felt one touch me and I shot straight up out of the water, finding myself balancing on the shower curtain and gazing down on a giggling sponge.

We are not allowed to kill any insects in this house except flies, which is hard on my-flesh-crawls-easy me.  One day it might come down to a straight choice between the Hub and a tin of insect repellant.  If I haven’t had enough sleep, he’s in big trouble.

The bee came back. It came in through the bathroom window, had a look around, disdained the decor, and left. It did the same thing the next morning.

I’m not sure my nerves can take it. In the spirit of know your enemy, therefore, I looked up some bee facts:

  • Bees have five eyes.  As if they’re not weird enough.
  • Life expectancy is 28-35 days, so I may have another month of this.
  • Honey is nectar that bees have repeatedly regurgitated and dehydrated.  Bet that puts you off your breakfast.
  • In her whole lifetime (it is always a her) a worker bee will produce only 1/12th of a teaspoon of honey. Makes you wonder why she bothers.
  • A bee is not born knowing how to make honey.  She goes to bee school to learn.  She’s usually average – never obtaining more than a…you know what I’m going to say, don’t you?
  • It would take around 1100 bee stings to cause the average human being to die.  I find that strangely comforting.
  • Honey bees have hairy eyes.  Eww!  Just eww!
  • Honey never goes off.  A jar of 2000-year-old honey in an Egyptian tomb was said to taste delicious.  No one complained – no sell-by dates in those days.
  • Bees vote on when to swarm or which food source to concentrate on, and they vote by moving nearer the proposer they support.  Proportional Representation by any other name would smell as sweet.
  • It is against the law to kill a bumble bee in Britain.  Punishable by a fine in the UK; and by divorce in this house.
  • Ancient Rome’s tax system was paid in honey, not money.   I like it; we should do that here.  Call it a sweetener.
  • Bees don’t snore.  If ever there was a reason to love bees and not husbands, this is it.
  • Male drone bees do no work and spend their time copulating.  Some things never change.
Honey

Honey (Photo credit: quisnovus)

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I was woken by the Hub’s noxious nasal activity at about four this morning.  Instead of tossing or turning or throttling him, I got into Tory Boy’s empty bed and went straight back to sleep…to sleep, perchance to dream; aye, there’s the Hub.

I am beginning to suspect there’s a connection between the bee and the snoring; think about it: bzzzzz/zzzzzz…I bet the bee is lost and thinks it can hear the hive in the distance….

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This Is Tartan!

27 Jul

 

In honor of reaching topic #200, what in your life would want to have 200 more of?

Is this a trick question?  If not, my answer would have to be:

200 prompters who try asking something that makes sense.

The ‘what’ in my life would like to know what is this ‘200’ whereof you speak?  Perhaps the personal pronouns you misplaced when writing that question? 

Alternative answers:

  • 200 tissues for my snotty first answer.
  • 200 pound coins – or maybe not: the question asks what I would want 200 more of, implying that I have at least one pound in my possession right now.
  • 200 boxes of my favourite sweet so that I can make a 200-drawer storage cabinet with the empties for the Hub’s junk.  Should be done by next Tuesday.
  • 200 plastic tubs of leftovers in my freezer so that I don’t have to cook a meal for the next 200 days.
  • 200 warriors to go with my Gerard Butler As An Ancient But Decidedly Dishy Greek collection.
  • 200 billion Euros to help bail out Gerry’s modern mates.  They’ve got as much chance of getting it from the UK government as they have from me, so I might as well think big: it costs me nothing and makes me look good.
  • 200 quilts for the Cotswolds’ wind surfers.
  • 200 kilts for the Scots’ old bag of wind professors – we may take their hives but we cannae take away their bee domes.
  • 200 coherent sentences for this post.
  • 200 copies of my answer to the 200 queries bound to flood in after this post is published.  Q: What are you going on about?  A: If the WordPress prompter can write nonsense, then so can I.
  • 200 Gerard Butlers, just for fun.
  • 200 gratuitous Gerard Butler pictures, to compensate for not getting even one Gerard Butler.
  • 200 butlers.  Someone has to clean the house while I’m decorating.

Spartans! Ready your breakfast and eat hearty, for tonight we dine in Tilly’s kitchen!

Joke 35

28 Apr

Q: What kind of bee drops things?

A: A fumble bee

How We Treat Our Visitors – Bee Warned

1 Aug

I haven’t written much about the nephew and niece because they haven’t done much except play on the PS3 and sigh at the rain, but it finally cheered up enough for us to take a walk along the Pennine Trail yesterday.  Not much happened that is worth blogging about, unless you want to hear how a horse mistook Spud’s fingers for grass and nipped him; how Spud was freaked out by a slug staring him in the face as he hid in the grass during a game of commando; and the nephew, thinking he was doing a good thing, killed a bumble bee that landed on the friend.  If you don’t want to hear about any of that, it’s too late because I’ve already written it and you’ve already read it.

The nephew was mortified when I told him he was going to jail as it is against the law to kill a bumble bee in this country; furthermore, his valiant act was in vain because bumble bees don’t sting and even if they did, only when attacked, and this one had just mistaken the friend for a flower and it’s a bit mean to kill something because it thinks you’re a flower.  Once he was penitent and contemplating a rush for the Mexican border, I eased off the guilt throttle, satisfied that the nephew would never again kill an innocent bee that’s just doing his bit for the planet; preferring the death of a thousand non-stings to a reproachful look from Auntie Tilly.

I know you are wondering if this photo is evidence of my rage but he actually did this to himself.  Playing football on tarmac in the rain is dangerous enough, but he thought it would be a good idea to take advantage of the three minutes of sunshine that escaped on Wednesday afternoon, and took off his shirt.  Having put it down, he turned, ran for the ball, slipped on the wet tarmac and went head over bee-killing heels before sliding along on his back and messing up the gravel.  He was quite shaken up, and this is a thirteen-year old boy who bats for an adult cricket team, so it must have stung a bit.

A couple of paracetamol, liberal doses of antiseptic and an Auntie Tilly hug and he was all better, but he kept reappearing in my personal space to show me the bruise on the knee, scrape on the ankle, rib lacerating the shoulder that he hadn’t noticed earlier.  It was inevitable that he’d have to pay it forward.  I guess that bee just had bad karma.

To Bee Or Not To Bee

27 Apr

Never judge a book by its cover _ I am not a bee; I am a hover fly

  

The bee is back. It came in through the bathroom window yesterday morning; had a look around; disdained the decor, and left. It did the same thing this morning. I’m not sure my nerves can take it. In the spirit of know your enemy, therefore, I looked up some bee facts:  

  • they have five eyes, as if they’re not weird enough
  • life expectancy is 28-35 days, so I may have another month of this
  • honey is nectar that bees have repeatedly regurgitated and dehydrated.  Bet that puts you off your breakfast, doesn’t it?
  • in her whole lifetime (it is always a her) a worker bee will produce only 1/12th of a teaspoon of honey. Makes you wonder why she bothers.
  • a bee is not born knowing how to make honey; she goes to bee school to learn
  • male drone bees do no work and spend their time copulating.  Some things never change
  • it would take around 1100 bee stings to cause the average human being to die; I find that strangely comforting
  • honey bees have hairy eyes
  • honey never goes off: a jar of 2000 year old honey in an Egyptian tomb was said to taste delicious.
  • Bees vote on when to swarm or which food source to concentrate on, and they vote by moving nearer the proposer they support (proportional representation by any other name would smell as sweet)
  • it is against the law to kill a bumble bee in Britain
  • Ancient Rome’s tax system was paid in honey, not money
  • bees don’t snore – I want a divorce right now

*  

I was woken again by the Hub’s nasal activity at about four this morning.  Instead of tossing and turning or throttling him, this time I got into Tory Boy’s empty bed and went straight back to sleep…to sleep, perchance to dream; aye, there’s the Hub.  

I am beginning to suspect there’s a connection between the bee and the snoring; think about it: bzzzzz/zzzzzz….I bet the bee is lost and thinks it can hear the hive in the distance.  

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Yesterday’s prompt was to take an old abandoned poem and work on it again.  This is one I wrote in 2002 and I keep going back to it but it’s still not right:  

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On Reading Make Believe  

Gerda Mayer still
mourns her Dad
decades on.  Time
not had.  My
Dad died; aeons
ensued…count
the days is what
we do.  Killed
by Nazis, cancer,
hatred, disease:
still our dead
stay dead.
We living grieve.  

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