This war has come a long way. The queen has decided this is her place in the clouds and has claimed her kingdom in the top of my washing room ceiling. A kingdom with a view over the valley and her buzzing bee gatherers provided the buzzing ambiance bee-coming a queen bee.
At first I tried to convince the queen bee to give up her sweet kingdom in my roof, voluntary. I got the bee man to put on his finest clothing and talk the bee out of her hive. Endless negotiations proved fruitless and she had to be moved clandestinely under a cloud of smoke. Her followers did not take to this kindly and lashed out in stinging anger, causing me to run for cover and hide out in the cottage, most undignified. My only consolation was that the queen bee was taken hostage and exiled to a happy place far from my happy place in the clouds. All her bee-sieged followers were then destined to die heroes deaths in the absence of their beloved queen’s guidance and my place in the clouds would bee free of bees and their buzzing buzz.
I don’t know what happened though. No sooner had I turned my back, or they were back in all their buzzing glory, bee-ing there, everywhere, taunting me. Bee-bee-bee-beeeee-bee.
So I don’t know where they canvassed their imposter queen bee from, but there is no place for me and the new queen bee. So I figured if she did not want to leave willingly to a loving hive in the local beekeepers garden, then she would have to suffer a slow agonising poisoned death by doom. She and all her gullible bee empowered buzzing imbeeciles must maar just choke to death up in the roof.
I planned the war very meticulously. At night when the bees go to sleep I wouldl execute my plan. My loyal (though apprehensive) accomplice, Freddie the gardener, was send up the ladder to plant the poisonous fogger. As a precaution (you never know) I went into hiding in Cameron’s cabin, making sure that all the windows are blocked from any possible bee invasion. The next morning the battle field looked gruesome, with bees sprawled all over the kitchen floor, dining room floor, steps, counters. Even though I knew it was for a good cause (to bee free) I somehow felt a tinge of guilt.
Then my guilt turned to bee- wilderment. There were still bees left over after the bee-fumigation! I`ll bee dammed!!
So that evening the next bee-extermination took place. This time we did not play around. Two deadly doom foggers were launched into the place above the ceiling. No way can any bee be alive after that. To bee or not to bee. Not to bee, I thought. But I was wrong. Quite a substantial amount of bees were found to bee around the next morning. So I launched one final move. Another doom fogger explodes up high. Bye bye bees. Bee off.
The next morning the last of the bee brigade buzzed around frantically trying to defy the stinging reality of death-by-fogger. I couldn’t watch. I instructed my cleaning team (Lilian) to get rid of the evidence.
But the bees had their revenge. I was sitting peacefully watching some TV, just bee-ing myself, when I felt a tickle under my left boob. I casually executed a scratch-like movement. Then the stinging pain. I was hit (stung). I whipped my top off in one graceless rip to see if I will bee boobless. Nope, everything was still in place. Trust ME to have a bee in my bra instead of in my bonnet. Unfortunately the bee, in his (I take it was a he bee) dazed and confused state stung my thumb (must have been a male-no sense of direction)
So I have won the BEE war for now, with an itchy reminder of my cruel, but necessary act of violence. I will not quite give my efforts a thumbs up (too itchy still), but am quietly confident that, for now, I have got rid of my BEE problem. It is so nice to BEE free!