Wee beasties

Much as we love our fellow creatures, our love is not unquestioning.  The bees delight us mainly by pollinating our crops: it’s also really good to watch them busying themselves in the flower garden, and amusing to see a fat bumble bee disappearing in an anttirrhium floret.

Less lovely are the ones that feast on our suits and pullovers.  We noticed the day of Margaret’s funeral that the moth had had a munch at the sleeve of Martyn’s best suit jacket.  So that’s a trip to the retoucherie in prospect.  Meanwhile, I’ve instructed that nice Mr Bezos to send us some thingies to hang in the wardrobes.  Must make a note to get replacements six month hence.

A colony of wasps has elected domicile in the roof of the larger garage, dammit.  So the exterminator has been summoned, and will be here on Monday.  I wonder if it’ll be the same fellow who came once before - same reason, different roof.  He arrived in an unmarked van, and when I opened the door, almost whispered ‘pest control’!  Quelle délicatesse.

Since the potatoes had started getting scabby, we decided yesterday to turn them all out, so the bottom drawer of the fridge is now rather full.  I know, I know: spuds should be put in double-layer paper sacks and stored in a cool, dark, dry place.  We ain’t got one of them that isn’t full of tool boxes and vacuum cleaners, so the fridge will have to do - and I expect we’ll have wolfed the lot before they can come to any harm.