Plumpie

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He might well have said “Look who’s talking. Remind me how much stodge you ate for lunch today?”

It was one of those rare days when our little trench was the place to be. R and I went up to Dunnington for lunch, and had to brave howling wind and driving rain; but no sooner were we back on home turf than the sun came out and the temperature lifted. “I’ll just go and check for bees,” I said, and the instant I stepped out of the back door a hairy-footed flower bee zoomed past me. I scoured the garden thoroughly, and in the end found three. All were males, which makes me think that last week’s female probably didn’t survive the cold snap: they only mate once, but spend the rest of their short lives collecting pollen and stocking their egg cells, so if she’d made it through I would have expected to see her foraging today. The males were all desperate for company, but not each other’s – patrolling the borders in search of someone to love, and reacting with irritation when they met at a pit stop.

I’ve put a flight shot of one member of the trio on Facebook if you’d like to see it.