Bees and blue skies. Days with those are best. I read often about bees being in decline but not round here they ain’t.
As for blue skies, these can be few here, but they’re most frequent in spring (and autumn).
These are the best times to come to the island, particularly with no midges to ruin the idyll.
I’d an idyllic day, sitting out the front of ma hoose. It was that day I told you about, when the weather was so fine the village gym and sauna wanted to shut early.
Unexpected pleasures
So I unbooked myself to let them swan off, and just came home, fixing a dry martini and sitting outside with a book.
It reminds me of that time my car was off the road and I couldn’t make the village gym.
So I walked to the ferry and went over the sea to another village gym … which was closed.
The trip wasn’t totally wasted. I went to the pub and had fish and chips washed down with two pints of lager. I’m sure these set off more pleasurable endorphins than any visit to the gym.
The reason this dry martini day was so pleasurable, apart from the dry martini, was that I was sitting in my favourite spot.
My favourite space
It’s a bit odd, because it’s a big garden, but I like this little space in front of the house best. It’s sheltered and private.
Often, I think I’d rather have a tiny, enclosed garden, rather than a big, open one. It’s not that my place is totally exposed, far from it, but bits of it are.
This little spot feels private and cosy, hemmed in as it is with decent-sized hedges. On of these sat a male sparrow, chieftain of the little tribe that live in the bushes at the front of the house, and occasionally create a right racket.
It’s as if they say: “Hey, let’s start tweeting all at once, just for the hell of making a rammy!”
Or maybe there’s a local dispute and, like in a school playground, the bystanders are shouting, “Fight! Fight!”
Chilling out with the birds and bees
But this little fellow was just chilling and, as with the blackbird I told you about recently, seemed to enjoy my company. I think that, sufficiently fed, they do relax and chill out, just like us.
We as a species only learned to chill once we’d secured sufficient food sources. Only after that do we create art. It’s not that I’m expecting my wee sparrow to write One Flew Over the Sparrow’s Nest or Where Sparrows Dare.
But at least the little fellow seemed contented and may have been thinking great thoughts, such as: ‘I could fair go a wee fly dry martini myself.’
Maybe the bees could too. I often try rescuing banjaxed bees by putting out water with honey in it. But, usually, they ignore it. Maybe they’d prefer something stronger. A wee pick-me-up.
When they’re fit, it’s heartening to watch them buzz about from flower to flower, as they did on the shrub in front of me on that nice day when I didn’t go to the gym but sat instead under the blue skies in my wee private place and felt unusually contented.
