You've never been stung and you call yourself a beekeeper?

Friday's inspection finished just as the rain came

It's true – I've not yet been stung by a bee. Although I think I might have been stung once. It was at a swimming gala when I was around 10 years old and I accidentally trod on a bee. But I can't be entirely sure as I think I may have made it up to get out of swimming my race.

So, who's to know whether I'm not severely allergic? And anyway, they say it's the second bee sting that is more dangerous than the first. Just one little bee sting could cause my lips to swell to that of Angelina Jolie's and my throat to close up preventing air getting to my lungs before I keel over. Eek.

So, on Friday when I decided to cycle over to visit my bees at lunchtime I had a cunning plan of what to put around my feet as I couldn't fit my wellies into my back pack (apparently bees are known to go for your ankles). With inspiration from the hospital world, I packed two plastic bags and two elastic bands to make myself a pair of 'beekeeper shoe covers'.

Although I did cover myself up fully, I almost want to be stung so I can get it over with and see what happens. I have flirted with the idea of sticking my bare, marigold-free hand over my hive and wiggling my fingers around waiting for one of my bees to sting me. But I'm not that desperate or that stupid. Instead I've resorted to having my mobile phone in the top pocket of my beesuit during inspections in case I need to call 999 before I can no longer talk due to swollen lips and lack of oxygen.

Anyway, my bees seemed very calm on Friday even when they got a little wet towards the end of my visit as I didn't quite manage to dodge the showers. Although at the time I did think they were dive bombing my head until I realised it was rain on the hood of my beesuit.

The last frame in the hive is fall of honey stores. Delicious.

A little wet honeybee on the roof of the Beehaus

As well as seeing my bees on Friday, I also had some exciting bee-related news from my dad, who lives in South Africa in a beautiful seaside 'dorp' called Port Alfred. He told me that he'd been chatting to one of the local farmers who keeps bees and has offered to take me to see his hives when I'm over in October. I wooped with delight and told my dad I'll pack my beesuit. How exciting although I'm really not doing myself any favours in quelling that 'crazy bee lady' reputation I've developed.