I’m often mocked for being a beekeeper. Not because I look ridiculous in my bee suit (although there’s no argument – I do), but because I’m not a great fan of honey and I’m allergic to bee stings.
To be fair, I didn’t know I had an allergy until I started to keep bees, but I soon found out as you can see, when I was stung in the lip:
The bees, evidently finding this just as amusing as everyone else (except me), decided to spend the next season stinging me at every opportunity. On one occasion, as I was preparing to take an assembly in a local junior school, they decided to sting me in the forehead, so I ended up standing in front of the children looking like the elephant man’s ugly brother.
Then I came across a wonderful discovery: bees like to fly about eight foot from the ground until they find whatever they’re looking for (pollen, water, someone to sting – that sort of thing). So, having built a flat roofed building at the end of my garden, I moved my two beehives up onto the roof. As a result, I have not been stung for five years.
That’s five years.
Five years without a single bee sting, despite the fact that I keep bees and steal their honey as and when I can. All because my bees are nine foot above my garden and no longer on a foot high stand. Genius!
Still not fond of honey, though.