So, yesterday afternoon, the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge (aka Kate and Wills) welcomed their first-born into the world – a strapping boy by all accounts. All very exciting, and prompted my house mates to bake Royal Baby Cupcakes, complete with luminous blue icing, as a celebratory gesture. That’s about as politically involved as I like to get these days.
Today I rescued three bees from the kitchen, which is quite a victory as far as I’m concerned. If a bee gets trapped in my kitchen (and they fly in through the door all the time in this hot weather), I feel personally responsible for the decline of bees the moment I find the sad, coiled little carcass in the corner. A dead bee is one of the saddest things.
It’s very pleasing to step outside and hear these industrious little creatures working hard in the sunshine, bickering with each other over the best flower. One day I aim to have bees of my own.
I’m still nursing my torn plantar fascia, which does appear to be improving, so hopefully cowboy boots will be an option by the time I get out to Washington.
Cowboy was distinctly unimpressed with my bee-keeping ambitions… I’ll show him.