The bee man cometh.

Two months ago 'the font' noticed that a large swarm of bees were nesting in the rickety old farmhouses guttering - right outside the bedroom window. Bees are good for the environment so we didn't want to harm them in any way. Over the last eight weeks a stream of specialists have been clambering up ladders scratching their heads and reporting that 'the only way to get rid of them is to gas them' . Finally, after umpteen environmentally unfriendly false starts the mayor introduced us to a gentleman who was willing to climb onto the roof and remove the Queen Bee and her apiarian host to pastures new.

At eight thirty on Sunday morning he arrived ; unannounced. He handed over two cards . One said ' Bees a speciality ' the other ' Odd jobs done - nothing too small '. He proudly informed us that he was 74, had been a parachutist and that his hip replacement didn't hinder his work in any way . " Parachutists don't have a fear of heights" he said while donning a large white protective outfit that covered him from head to toe . After that communication became rather difficult but a combination of roof to ground sign language and a creative interpretation of the grunts that emerged from the white spacesuit soon told us that the offending bees had been located. Twenty minutes later it was all done. The Queen, her royal jelly, and her slavish minions had been smoked out and safely stowed in a cardboard box . They would soon be embarking on a carefree new life in a hive twenty kilometres away.

It was then that events took an interesting turn. As he was putting back the roof tiles, three of them slid out of his hands and tumbled to the ground with a loud crash. In turning round to see what had happened he stepped backwards and put a white boot through the bedroom ceiling, simultaneously snagging his other leg on the guttering. 'The font' who was still bustling around repairing the damage caused by the pigeon in the guest bedroom helpfully rushed downstairs to tell me that the bed was covered in plaster and that there was a leg sticking through the roof.

Going to sleep last night I could see the stars through the void in the ceiling created by the boot shaped hole and the missing roof tiles. Wilf thought it was all great fun. 'The font' less so. The bee mans odd job skills won't be called upon. If ever we move again it's going to be to a low maintenance new build.