Killer Bees, Election Fever and Bungo Womble

There was a report in today's paper about a colony of bees that turned on a bee keeper and stung him to death.

'I think,' said Andy, 'that we should go and buy bees suits on Saturday.'
'This bee keeper was tending his bees bare chested, with no protective clothing whatsoever,' I said.
'Even so,' said Andy. 'And I think we should also go for the more expensive, thicker and therefore more protective option of bee suit.'
'He was being bit devil-may-care in his bee keeping,' I said.
'Even so,' said Andy.
'The report suggests he was tending them wearing little more than his bare skin,' I said.
'Extreme bee-keeping,' said Andy.
'Like extreme ironing?' I said.
'I think not,' said Andy.

So on Saturday, we are going to buy bee suits.

The second thing that is causing slight friction at the Manor is the forthcoming General Election. There are three candidates - General Motors, General Custer and General Misunderstanding. Of course, I jest. But Andy is disappointed that I like David Cameron. It is something he cannot get his head around and he looks at me reproachfully during party political broadcasts and prime minesterial debates, like I am going to waste my vote in some unlawful way. Equally, I am disappointed that Andy insists on sitting on the wobbly LibDem fence built by someone called Nick Leg. Still, we'll muddle by until next Thursday and then all will return to normal.

And the third thing that caused a mild contretemps this evening was the existence of Bungo the Womble. And Wellington the Womble. Now I remembered them very clearly, being an avid Womble fan when I was a child. But Andy was very suspicious.
'I don't remember them,' said he.
'That's because you're from up North and telly hadn't made it past the Watford Gap back in the 70's,' said I. 'Because of the risk of the annode ray tube shattering in the cold.'

(I like to get a Northern jibe in occasionally. It bolsters the feeling of superiority in my more advanced Southern brain.)

Anyway, via the medium of the Interwebbly, I proved the existence of said Wombles and a Womble identity crisis was thus avoided. It reminded me of the time I had to convince Andy that Barney Magrew from the Trumpton fire station was only one person and not two.

We really should get out more.