Hives, pianos and another strange dream

Andy is making excellent progress in the building, or should I say 'artisan crafting' of our top bar hive. He is also making excellent progress in retaining all limbs and digits whilst adapting to the workings of his new toy, I mean, circular saw. At this rate, methinks I'll soon be purchasing some lemon grass to entice some swarm of itinerant bees into stopping off and thinking, 'Hmmm, this'll be a good place to live. Smells nice, anyway. Like a fruity Queen Bee.'

And one of them might say, 'It hasn't been furnished very well.'
And another might say, 'That's okay. You know how we like a bit of DIY.'

Anyway, Andy's just gone into the garden now, to do some more sawing after having waited thoughtfully until nearly ten in morning so he doesn't upset the neighbours with his noise. It's very considerate of him, I think, given that the neighbours don't seem to give a sod about keeping their own noise down, lighting barbecues left, right and centre, and having loud out-door parties involving loud drinking, loud screaming from their horrid children, loud barking from their insane dogs and loud swearing from their idiot potty mouths...

Am I ranting? Sorry, I'll stop. Where was I? Ah yes...

I had another weird dream last night. I dreamt we were living in the house we live in now only it had an extension off the back the size of a ballroom. (I know it was a ballroom because it had a very nice wooden floor.) And although we lived in this house, I'd never explored this room before and it was full of all sorts of junk belonging to the previous owner. Who looked a bit like the actor Christopher Casanove. Or possibly Simon Williams. Also, it was one of those rooms that although you know it's inside, it seems outside as well.

The room had what I thought was a massive tree in it. I thought, if I chop that tree down, it'll let more light into the room. I thought, I could get the tree surgeon out who came to get rid of the eucalyptus. And then, when I went to touch the tree, I found it was a giant inflatable Mr Blobby-type figure with seven or eight huge inflatable Barbie heads piled on top. So all I had to do to get rid of this light-blocking monstrosity was deflate it! Simples!! I did it myself there and then, probably saving myself a hypothetical £200.

And along one wall was a series of cupboards, all full of stuff that was of no use to me, but plenty of use to people I knew, so I could give it away and clear out the space. (I already had in mind to turn this extra space into a super-large kitchen.) And then, probably most weirdly, there was a massive (at least 15 feet by 12 feet) limited edition painting of Rupert Bear sailing a midnight-blue ocean in an upturned umbrella. The water looked a bit choppy but I wasn't bothered because I was never much of a Rupert Bear fan. Even as an eight year old I remember thinking what an irritating, precocious ball of bear fur he was. And that he didn't treat his friends very nicely. I always felt he looked down his nose at them. A tag on the picture suggested it would sell for at least £7,000 at auction. That's good, I thought. The money will come in handy for renovations.

So, what to be learned from the weird dream? I hadn't taken any mind altering drugs yesterday, save from the anti-histamine Andy insists I take before doing a hive inspection in case I get stung. (All is well on the hive front; many eggs, many larva, many baby bees, drawing out comb nicely, everyone good tempered, no need to use smoker.)

Well, I think it means that although I have many plans in my head for what to do in the future, I musn't talk myself out of them because I am thinking they will be too difficult to implement. Because it will be easier to move forward with them than I am thinking; I just need to GIVE 'EM A GO!

And that I need to give my current environment a good tidy and redecorate because if you can't love the space you are already in, how are you supposed to love the space you hope to spend the rest of your life in? Contentedness has to come with the present day, not with a dreamed approximation of the future.

And the piano? Well, at breakfast this morning Andy was muttering a tad about the instructions he is following for the top bar hive, stuff about their unnecessary complexity, and occasional confusion.
'You could jot down a more simplified construction method based on your own experience,' I suggested.
'Yes,' said Andy. 'That's what we need to do. Invent our own version of a top bar hive.'
'Very well, ' I said. 'Here is a plan for my own simple top bar hive... gut the deceased piano, put the shell in the garden, invite bees to move in. They'd love it!'

'I bet they would,' said Andy.