Big, drowsy Bumbles, sweet, busy Honey Bees buzzing to and from their hives or exquisite silver bees for my ears; I am just mad about bees.
And all this despite being stung by a bumble bee on one fat cheek on my face as I sat in my pram as a baby!
The story of being pushed, hurriedly, through the village in my perambulator to visit the vicarage where my doctor lived and held his surgery has become folklore in my family. Whilst Dr. Harris removed the sting, Mrs Harris prepared a slice of bread butter and sweet jam to pacify and soothe me. This late 1950’s style drama, with its Silver Cross pram, vintage print dresses, a vicarage and an ex RAF doctor with a handsome handle bar moustache has almost all the ingredients worthy of a scene from an Agatha Christie novel.
With my love of Cottage Gardens full of bees, sweet little cardigans, English afternoon tea, with my attempts at knitting and crochet and my love of a good fictional murder to solve, am I not well on my way to becoming just like one of my most favourite imaginary characters?