It is something of a surprise that some of the country's top rated honey comes from London. Apparently our flower-rich gardens and extensive parks and green spaces make the city a sort of bee-heaven, assisted by the eagerness with which London's fashionistas have adopted this season's must-have; a beehive on their Notting Hill roof terrace. You can probably buy them at the Conran shop, or at a boutique bee dealers in South Molton Street, hand crafted in Norwegian Fir from sustainable sources for £1,500 a pop. The problem has been that as with the fashionistas' vinegar mothers (died) sourdough yeast colonies (died) and balcony herb gardens (died), bees need maintenance. What their owners actually want is a hive with a tap on the side to drain off the honey on demand, but it doesn't quite work like this. And the lack of maintenance has led to widespread swarming this year as new colonies with their young queens emerge from Notting Hill in search of new homes. This is placing additional demands on London's established allotment and park beekeepers to collect and re-house the Luvvie swarms. Hey ho.
And news reaches me of a Jazz and Real Ale Festival (I had to be careful typing that) at London's main nudist colony, or naturist foundation as they prefer to be called. Details HERE. They don't mention bees, and I'd imagine that nude beekeeping is a step too far even for the South-east. Clothed persons can drink ale and listen to the jazz unless they also want a sauna.
Apols for the lack of anti-politics polemic; either the silly season has arrived early or I'm losing heart.