We robbed the hives yesterday fashionably attired in our whites and veils while Pickle sat in the car supervising with a bottle. He was fed scraps of honey laden comb to keep him quiet as we moved frames and boxes and coaxed the bees off the frames we were taking home. He would imperiously yell ‘more’ and ‘honey’ when his supplies ran low! Later, when I was uncapping the honey stores in the kitchen and ged was chopping up veg for supper I said ‘It’s addictive, isn’t it, this self sufficiency business? The more I do it, the more I love it, and the more I resent paying anyone for my food.’ We carried on working and then I said ‘The funniest thing for anyone to witness though is my transformation from Margot to Barbara . . . ‘
He looked at me, undyed hair streaked with grey, worn and honey strewn shirt, jeans and thick socks, at our unkempt house with the piles of never-ending washing to be put away, the cat and dog lording it by the fire, the home baked muffins and cookies on the kitchen bench and the oranges and lemons in baskets awaiting the honey to be made into jam. He laughed. ‘You’ve come a long way, baby!’