The newspapers were calling for us to give wasps a chance, as they are pollinators just like their bee enemies. Sadly this was a bad choice of phrase, because “Give Bees a chance” is a much better advertising slogan.
I gave bees a chance and they chose to swarm down my chimney. Mind you I gave wasps a chance and they got into my brickwork, so I don’t know what to think. I gave bees more of a chance though, because I sent the wasps to the gas chamber, whereas I just got my neighbour to smoke out my bees. The wasp man wouldn’t kill the bees, so it proves there is a two tier system.
Incidentally, the smoking did work. I saw my neighbour yesterday and he asked after the bees. I said there was no more noise and he revealed that the day after the smoke out he’d seen a big bee kerfuffle by one of his hives and on investigation there was a bee battle going on. My chimney bees had come out of the smoky chimney and decided to try and take over the hive instead and bee carnage was the result. My neighbour admitted that the bees in my chimney were his bees after all, so I didn’t have to feel guilty about that bee civil war. I wash my hands of the bee deaths.
Seems like wasps and bees are all dicks.
It was a day of prepping for Twitch of Fun, though I don’t know why I really bother, because once I get on air, the puppets and the producer take it in very unexpected direction, mostly nothing to do with the news stories that I’ve picked out. Ally seemed keener to sing theme tunes from TV shows from the 1970s and then TV shows from before I was born, including one kids TV show from the 1890s about a prostitute. I was surprised that Victorians thought that was a suitable subject for kids and also that the Victorians had TV at all, but I bow to my dummy’s superior knowledge. I was also amazed that Ally was able to pretty much recite all 50 states despite never having read the Memory Book. I found my copy of that by the way and had remembered it perfectly, so it must work. Might give it another read to see if there’s anything else worth picking up in there, but the chapter I flicked to was all about remembering long numbers, which mattered in the 1970s when you might be called upon to recall a phone number (if you didn’t have a piece of paper to hand). Nowadays our phones remember for us and I couldn’t even begin to guess what my wife’s phone number is (I mean I could guess, but I’d almost certainly get it wrong). The only numbers I know off by heart are my mobile number (don’t know what our land line is even), my mum and dad’s house and Swap Shop. I feel our number for our house in Loughborough might have been 61805. But I last needed to recite that when I was 8 (almost half a century ago) so it might not be accurate. How old am I that telephone numbers were that short? I think you’d have to add an area code to that.
I wonder if I rung it now if I might be able to talk to the 8 year old me. I don’t think I will risk it, just in case. I suspect he was an idiot. And would he listen if I tried to equip him with info that would make his life run smoother. Someone must have done this as a book or TV show, right. I must stop having ideas. Or I could write about a writer who has a million ideas, but no time to write them because as soon as he tries another idea strikes him.
What can I say? I am fire.
That’s another idea. A man on fire. I literally can’t stop.
And what about something about a man who literally can’t stop.
Having ideas is easy.
Anyway, is it worth me learning the system to remember numbers (basically each number has a letter or letter combo like ch associated with it. You learn those ten configurations and then try and find a word that you can make from the sounds. Say 61805 was s n k m t, you’d maybe choose “snack meat” and then associate some loose ham with the person whose number that was (who would be stuffing their face in your imagination).
There must be a chapter on remembering people’s names. I should probably do that one first. More important for me it would be good if I was capable of remembering TV execs who I’ve had meetings with, who I never, ever recognise in any other context. It’s no wonder I am reduced to making my own puppet show that I don’t even make up myself, relying on the inventiveness of my puppets.