On Sharing Space.

I’ve been sharing a dark cloud with somebody over the past few days. She shared mine back in the spring so she’s a bit of a brick, and she’s just suffered a horrible loss. That’s why there hasn’t been much blog activity recently.

Well, that and having my living space invaded for ten hours yesterday by some unholy racket coming up from the pub at the bottom of the lane. It’s nearly half a mile away and I had all the doors and windows shut tight, but I could still hear it right up to bloody midnight.  They were having something approximating to a beer and music festival, I’m told. Having my personal space invaded by somebody else’s choice of so-called music has a curious effect on me. My spirits plummet, my nervous system gets well overheated, and my normally impeccable ability to function practically and imaginatively just about goes off the rails. I wish I didn’t care, but I do.

But at least the bees didn’t sting me. They don’t, you know. This year has seen the genesis of two new bee hives in the stonework supporting the embankment at the back of my house. Every time I go around there a few of them come to investigate the potential menace, but I speak nicely to them and assure them that I mean them no ill will, and so far they’ve allowed me my space and resisted the probable urge to attack. And that pleases me greatly because when honey bees sting they die horribly shortly afterwards, and I wouldn’t like that at all.

They do sometimes follow me, though, when I go back around the corner of the house. I hear a slight change in the sound of their wing beats which carries the unmistakable imprecation ‘And don’t come back!’