Working through my photo blog of my visit to Harewood House.
You'll get why I've left you hanging there if you read other threads.
Not-so-good family news means I'm not up to happy jolly rememberings of a day out.
But I came across these and I did smile.
Because I'd mentioned in the Nightmare thread that I'm quite fond of the little old English (British? European?) wasp.
With my stupid immune system - even before I compromised it with cirrhosis - I get a horrible reaction to a sting. But it's nothing really. Not like people who have to have epi-pens for bee stings or owt. I just itch longer and harder than most people, swell more and get oozy. Ditto cat bites, ant stings, nettles bramble scratches etc etc. Yeah, it's really classy.
AnyWAY.
Had a cream tea. Part of my birthday treat.
It was ridiculously expensive and I savoured every mouthful.
So why not share it?
Mr Wasp came looking.
I moved the pot of jam away from me (see above re itching and oozing) and said, "Have at it, mate."
Mr Wasp had a mate. As in a pal, a chum, a bromance. Wasps don't do the sexy thing. But I'd've been down with gay wasps if it had worked out that way.
Not waving, but drowning.
Actually, no Stevie Smiths were harmed in this series of photographs. Both of them were probably sugar-high, but neither were trapped.