Frank has found that his life has become almost entirely bee-centred…
I was delighted to discover that the Natural History Museum hosts an online beecam. Delight turned to despair, however, when I realised I am unlikely ever again to concentrate on any purposeful activity. I have been keeping a log, and here is a typical day in my new world:
5.15 AM : Leap out of bed and plump myself in front of the beecam. Become enthralled.
7.24 AM : Consider basic needs, such as washing and dressing and eating a hearty breakfast of kedgeree and bloaters and smokers’ poptarts, but am so overwhelmed by the beecam that I postpone any activity.
11.45 AM : Bee-haunted.
3.00 PM : Numb to the human world. Beginning to think like a bee. Making occasional buzzing noises.
3.14 PM : Nip away from the beecam momentarily to don yellow-and-black striped leotard and black hat with antennae.
7.52 PM : Recall that I planned to write something for The Dabbler. Am too transfixed by the beecam to move.
11.35 PM : Realise that I have spent the entire day observing either bees or the absence of bees on the beecam. Suffused with a warm glow of beeness. Continue to watch bees with now bleary eyes. Make a mental note to explain to readers that “bleary-eyed” has nothing to do with Blairite Labour politician Hazel Blears. Though come to think of it, she is so diminutive she is not much bigger than a bee.
1.07 AM : Drag myself reluctantly from beecam to bed. As I fall asleep, reflect upon the fact that I have never had so bee-centred a day as the day just gone. Resolve to be even more bee-minded in future.