Has bees

It's important to cut a dash wherever you're stepping out. The apiary is no exception. It is received wisdom that beekeepers suit up in white, with a minority opting for dirty brown or sage green. So 20th century. Hence, when you turn out at the hives in a tasty lavender pink, you can expect heads, if not their accompanying veils, to turn. But my girls seem impressed, waxing lyrical about it. You see these are our bees, currently being beesat a couple of miles down the road awaiting construction of their new honeycomb centre alongside the rising human-size hive. Beekeeping is very much a personal thing and Mrs Honeybun and I are already reduced to petty squabbling about how to handle the ladies. The answer of course is his 'n' hers hives. So we have decided to procreate, which seems all the rage at the moment and I just can't resist the latest buzz. This is slightly different of course as it involves a one-night stand ending up with the death of the male. Sounds exciting, but not something I'd like to try more than once. With any luck we will be hearing the patter of hairy feet in about nine months time.

Has beans

It's been a difficult summer for sunbathers. Courgettes have been rolling off the plants at the rate of one per week. Pumpkins are the still the size of golf balls. French beans have forgotten the auld alliance. But anything with penchant for cool damp conditions has romped away. Peas are odds on to be vegetable personality of the year again, carrots and celery so easy to grow here. But I might have slightly misjudged how many broad beans we can eat. It's a good job bean podding is a popular pastime in its own right round here.

Infamy, Infamy...

The emperor Octavian was, I suspect, not a gardener in the north of Scotland. If I were asked to name a month after myself, I would have chosen one signifying hope or even idleness rather one of expectations unfulfilled. I have shamefully to admit that things have rather got on top of me. Preoccupied with bathroom and staircase specifications, and with the plot an unappealing cold squelchy place for the first half of the month, I've rather let the place go to seed, at least metaphorically - except for the calabrese, which took it literally. An empire of weeds you could say. Unlike HF-S though, I have actually visited the vegetable garden but I am reduced to crisis weeding, the sort you do to find where you planted your courgettes. Occasionally, a surprise cucumber surfaces. But I actually find myself looking forward to winter when the battle with the weeds becomes an even contest once again. Next August, after the annual routine of removing the blighted foliage from my potatoes, will be a good time to go on holiday. On second thoughts, Rome wasnt built in a day, and all roads will lead back to the Romanesco broccoli.

Baby I'm... Clad All Over

No doubt I've been thoroughly slated for not posting of late, but I've only now found the right window. You see things have just larched from one crisis to the next. Now we're galvanised and everything's pretty in zinc. From here, we must turn inwards in search of insulation.