Back to Buts

Back to buts was a frequent Mattyism. It meant a return to the usual. Bert is back from Spain and things are beginning to get back to normal. He had a lovely time and brought the girls some souvenir flamenco dresses. I think they are the dressing up equivalent of the big straw donkeys that holiday makers used to bring back from Spanish holidays. Now that baggage space on planes is so restricted there will be little demand for that sort of article.

There was great excitement at Clint's place today. He got a big swarm of bees landed on one of his bushes. Bert was called on to gather them up. This is the third swarm Clint's had in a month and he had no use for it. Swarming bees tend to be quiet so, as usual, he braved it without his beekeeping suit. And it worked out for him. No stings. When he returned he decided to check his own hive and donned the protective gear. Our hives are Irish black bees and they always seem to be very angry. The minute he went into the hive they attacked him. One stung him on the Adam's apple and he got four on his hands. I was pulling the sting out of his  neck and asked him,

What happened there?

I hadn't my gloves on.

How did they get you get stung on the neck? 

I hadn't fastened the jacket up. I thought it would be all right if I was quick about it.

It's never all right with those bees. You're an eedgit.

Ah Bert. He's great entertainment value. It's good to have him back.

Days Like These

Hurrah for the days that aren't too depressing. Today was such a day, even though I had to 'sign on'. At least the Job Centre, or whatever you call it these days, is not as dreary as it used to be.

I had Martha today and I also had Hannah. When 'Ha!' is around Miss Martha doesn't pay me too much attention but that's all right. We also had some surprise visitors, Sylvie and Maggie, both around six or seven, and Martha was thrilled to be hanging out with the big girls. They had fun with the dogs, fun with the car, fun with the pigs, fun on the gravel pile and fun on the swing.

I did teach Martha how to blow her nose on rose petals. I'm sure she thinks now that that's the proper thing to do.

Bert had hive work to do but sensibly left it until after all the girls had gone home. Just as well as he enraged the bees again. I spotted him racing past with a cloud of the little buzzing bastards pursuing him. As usual he didn't gird his loins as well as he oughta. He wore the protective smock, veil and gloves but did not protect his nether regions. The bees flew up the legs of his jeans and he had to race to the poly tunnels and debag. He was commando as well so think of the risk he was taking and imagine, if you can bear it, the sight of Bert wearing nothing but a beekeeper's smock. Thankfully no one was around. I wish I'd been out there – with my camera. I might have had to do a bit of pixellating for decency's sake.

Why,

Says I,

Did you not tuck your trousers into your socks and wear boots?

Sure,

Says he,

I was only putting a honey super on for them.

Bert thinks that if he's just going to be working with the bees for a short time that they'll not attack him. This, despite the fact that they always, always do. At least they only stung him on his shins and calves. Six stings in all and still no honey.

The Joys of Beekeeping

beekeeping, originally uploaded by NellyMoser.

Bert and I just cannot wait to get out there and do a hive inspection. It's a better way to spend the Twelfth than marching or rioting.

Brother Joe's take on the Belfast rioters?

Those boys would be more use between the shafts of a turf barrow!

But that's another post - The Joys of Turfcutting.

A Cure For Ennui,Blame and Blue Funk

Sometimes things just get on top of me. Work can be difficult sometimes, as it seems to me that my role includes soaking up all the responsibility for things that go wrong. Guys - sometimes I screw up and sometimes you do too. I don't want to be the Designated Blame Monkey any more.

Hannah threw a little farewell shindig for the lovely Mel on Friday for she is going to Australia for a year. Many moons ago this gathering was supposed to be a demure little tea party with cucumber sandwiches and iced buns. Then 'The Trouble' came along and I got distracted from Nigella recipes and entertaining. Hannah and Raymond Party Planners stepped into the breach and my cucumber sandwiches were replaced by spicy party food from Iceland and my iced buns by something far more potent and the Earl Gray and Chardonnay by Buckfast and Carlsberg.

Mind you the guests were ever so, ever so... including primary school teachers, assorted geniuses, two people with firsts and two people related to people with firsts. Educated people - so rough and ready these days. You cannot take them anywhere! I blame the universities.

Before we got thoroughly drunk I took The Genius Dougie out to see the wildlife. I showed him the Bad Bees, one of which came up and hovered nastily just six inches in front of my midriff giving off buzzy fuck off vibes. I totally respected it and fucked off and it respected me by not stinging me. I then showed Dougie the Nice Bees and we were able to get proper close up to them and view them through the glass crown board. Then we viewed Pearlie through the front windows and she glared at us but luckily no stings or stinging remarks were made when Mel and Hannah ceidhlied with her later.

Saturday - clean, clean, clean. Buckfast everywhere. These geniuses and intellectuals throw more drink around them than they actually imbibe. Perhaps it's for the best. I wouldn't lip the stuff. It's worse than Lucozade (Pearlie's current poison). I'm sure I visited Matty at some point but I disremember the details.

Sunday was Aunt Mary's month's mind and I was halfway home when I turned and went home to bed. I was feeling rather unwell, suffering from ennui, cystitis, depression, the blues, fever, tiredness, blue funk, blame, guilt and a cold in the nose. Later I also suffered from regret. I should have went to Aunt Mary's month's mind. I had an awesome outfit consisting of a Primark vest, a Monsoon jacket, a Fenn Wright Manson skirt and Diesel courts. I was mixing it up. I was so ready for Tannaghmore except for the blue funk, fever etc. Still - Ganching went, worked the room, represented the family and sure I'd only have been in her road.

Monday - Duvet day. I was far too blue to go to work and I still had enough symptoms left to justify it to myself. Then in the afternoon - along came the cure for it all!

A Cure For All A Granny's Ills

After a lovely afternoon spent in the company of Miss Martha and her people and dogs I was ready to resume all my responsibilities.

Bee Specialist

I'm studying hard for my Federation of Irish Beekeeper's Associations exam (preliminary). It helps that Bert did it last year. We were provided with a selection of past papers.

So I ran this past him,

I'm to name two different ways in which a novice beekeeper can obtain a stock of bees. Buying a nuc would be one way. Would gathering up a swarm be another, or would that be too technical for a novice?

Two ways? Hmmm. I'd say you could buy a nuc or you could steal a hive. You should put that in your exam. Buy a nuc or steal your bees!

So saying he bursts into delighted and mischievous laughter. Sometimes I fear that Bert is not quite as well-reared as I was. I blame Pearlie for his lack of graciousness. That and the fact that he wasn't educated by nuns.

More Tales Of Bad-Tempered Bees

Wee Les arrived on the yard today just as Bert was pulling on his bee suit and heading out to check the supers. Bert wasn't expecting much trouble from the buzzing devils as the last time he'd checked there were only about six of them in the super. Les chose to watch the proceedings from a very considerable distance.

But - when Bert opened the hive there were hundreds in there and they were awfully cross. The good news is that there is uncapped honey in there, the bad news was that there is also an army of angry fighter bees determined to defend that honey to their last heartbeat.

They attacked Bert in their thousands stinging his poor suit to death. Les wasn't wearing one and he was yards away but still too close for our vicious stingarees. He ran (like fuck) divesting himself of his garments as he went. I'd like to report than Les ran around the house, pursued by bees, at least ten times, ending up in his boxers but the truth is he only ran around the house three times (pursued by bees) and ended up in his simmet.

Les finally found refuge in the house and barred the doors against Bert (pursued by a cloud of bees). Bert got the bee suit off and ran for shelter for once the suit was off the bees lost interest in the wearer and dive bombed it and stung the suit until death. We're going to have some fun harvesting that honey.

Bert's Box of Bad-Tempered Bees

Beespace

So, even though I wasn't wearing protective clothing, I thought I'd take a little film of our bees guarding, and orientating and foraging. Standing at a respectful distance with the zoom on resulted in blurred footage, so then I thought of leaving the camera running on their landing board.

One of the guard bees was most displeased and zoomed angrily around the camera. I reached over to turn it off and make my escape with it. The guard bee was still not happy and followed me, all the while buzzing around my head. Then it flew into my hair and I could feel its little wings birring against my neck. I remembered one of the things I'd been taught - honey bees do not like sudden movement or vibration - so I stood stock still. I felt calm. I reckoned that if I tried to get the bee out I'd certainly receive a sting and the bee would die in defense of the hive. But if I stood quiet the bee might fly away. And she did!

Bert was most impressed with me. He says the moment they come near him he flies up the field and bats them away and he always gets a sting.

Still - I'm for wearing the bee suit from now on. I'm even for wearing it to Katy's wedding. That's the mother of the bride outfit sorted!

Bert's Bees

I started the Preliminary Beekeeping Course at Craigdun Apiary today and really enjoyed it. Bert and Clint did the same course last year and Bert has had a hive in the garden for nearly a year now. I'd hear Bert and Clint using expressions like 'super', 'propolis', 'nuc' and 'varroa strip' and not have a notion what they were talking about. I know now, and a wee bit more besides. So if anyone is thinking of getting involved with a Beekeeping Association, I'd have to say you jolly well should for you'll meet a lot of interesting people. And the bees? They're even more interesting than people. And propolis smells wonderful. Actually I already knew about propolis for Bert's bee suit is clarried in it. Now I have to go on and buy my own bee suit. I'm for getting a green one for white is such a fattening colour.

Bert's bees acting busy (Photo Leslie Bamber)

Meanwhile Bert is pleased that his hive is better than Clint's. Those old schoolboy rivalries never, ever die. Clint, as you might recall, bought our old house and immediately set about getting rid of all my flower gardens,rooted out our lovely hedges and generally demolished wild flowers and weeds and replaced all with grass and sheds and geese. So his poor bees have to fly for ages to find anything to eat. Ours are surrounded by a glory of blossom and pollen- the lucky little beasts.

Bert inspecting the hive

Bert Does Not Get It Easy

Bert has been stung by his bees many, many times. He usually gets attacked about five times a week. He has been stung on the face, the neck, the arms, his bum, and his ankles. I asked him,

Is there any part of your body that you haven't been stung on?

He answered,

My penis.

He has been pretty stoical about it, which I didn't expect, as he can be very babyish about nettle stings and whinges for hours after.

It's not just the bees, for our pigs are also proving hazardous to Bert's health and well-being. They can be very rough with him. He has a great bruise on the back of his calf where one of them bit him. He reckons it thought he was taking far too much time getting the scoff out to them. So far, the worst thing that has happened to me was last time I fed them whilst wearing one of my good red Monsoon skirts (I have at least three red ones) and got it all clarried with muck and pig drool what with them snurfling and crowding around me. I'd be too scared to go in with them now.

Still - if they're going to cut up rough with us we'll feel far less guilty when they're sausages. Unless....unless they eat us first.

Bee Is For Bertram

Bert went on a bee-keeping course recently and then sat a bee-keeping examination. He bought a bee-keepers outfit and built a hive and tonight he brought home his first bees. There are thousands of them and they have to be kept in a travelling box for a few days before being introduced to the hive. The travelling box has to be placed on the exact spot where the hive will sit. Bert was very excited about it all. He shouted to me to come and see. "Listen," says he. "Can you hear them?" I could. They sounded pretty pissed off to me. "Aren't you going to wear your protective gear?" I asked him. "Nah. It'll be OK." He opened them up. They poured out, a buzzing, raging mass. Straightaway Bert was stung on the finger, ankle and throat. Yet God was good for I was unscathed.

I said some things to Bert that are better not repeated in full. Words and phrases like 'bloody idiot', 'emergency tracheotomy' and 'dickhead' might have been uttered.

He went out again to see to them and this time he wore all the gear. When he came in he unzipped himself out of it and the next thing there's an angry bee buzzing around the kitchen. I beat a hasty retreat and ordered him to get it out of the house.

I think I'd far rather have the pigs.