I didn’t write anything yesterday, or the day before. Normally I have a myriad of activities and interactions throughout any given day that spawn at least the beginnings of a ramble.
It’s not like I’ve locked myself in a cupboard though. I get out, in line with government guidelines, and there are many things I could scribble about. The only problem is, they are all Lockdown, Covid 19, Coronavirus, call it what you will, related. And I really want to write about something else.
So, shall I succumb? Shall I join the myriad who write, think, talk about nothing else? I can practically feel the wool starting to grow on my back. I have a strange and unusual urge to follow; to run from collie dogs and find shelter in wooden pens. To follow the crowd. Admittedly it is a socially distanced crowd and the dogs don’t understand why we won’t all just cluster together so they can get us all into the pen but, I really want to say, “Baaaaaaaa.”
No, I can’t, nay won’t do it. I will not become that sheep and follow blindly. I shall look through my photos from the weekend and find inspiration. Bear with… picture of empty motorway – Boring!… another bl***y BBQ – DULL!… Ooo, here’s one…
Saturday saw some very odd behaviour in our tiny little lockdown world.
Can you guess what is going on here? No? I’m not going shopping. Nor am I about to venture into the outside world where I run the risk of inadvertently being less than 2 metres from a fellow human being (read; Petri dish of festering disease). Am I cold? No. It’s 23 degrees c. I’m melting.
There is a clue on the wall in the background. It is a very popular bee hotel that some idiot decided would be best placed just above where we sit in the sun to eat, chat, drink tea etc. As we are now on the bee equivalent of the M1 at rush hour we ran the risk of inadvertently imbibing a random bee or 3 whenever we raised our cups. It needed to moved. We found a good spot and I began to assemble my ‘safety equipment.’ Mrs P just looked at me like I was a big girls blouse. But, I knew best. I consider myself something of an expert in all matters apiary because I once knew a man who kept bees. He told me everything I ever needed to know; bees can sting and it hurts. There were literally… 1, 2, 3… some bees buzzing around and I was taking no chances.
My personal wildlife photographer (Mrs P) was similarly attired – NOT – in shorts and a vest top.
Anyway, long story short. Only 1 bee stayed with me during the removal. The others (all 6 of them) did the bee version of a runner and the hotel was successfully moved. All residents seem to have quickly found their way to the new spot. It is once again a thriving community and way less intrusive at our table.
Anyway, I’d best not drone on (sorry).
I’m not the only person dressing up by the way. It seems to be a bit of a trend.
This is Anne…
Anne is a friend of Mrs P. She is a doctor in Florida, America. She sent this picture of her Easter Bunny outfit. Now, I know, I should be looking at this and thinking, ‘Oh, how brave.’ But, when I first saw this picture I just thought ‘wimple.’ I can’t help it. I think she looks like sister Maria from a dystopian version of the Sound of music where homemade face masks tied up with string are just one of her favourite things and the only reason the goatherd is lonely is because he has a bit of a cough. I’m sure she’s doing a marvellous job, but where was she when I needed to move the bee hotel?
I shall end with a link to a marvellous story of a 99 year old Army veteran who has raised more than £500,000 for the NHS. He pledged to complete 100 Laps of his garden by his 100th birthday with the aid of his walking frame. His original goal was £1,000 but he seems to have beaten that…