I had all but abandoned my search for bees yesterday, when I hit upon a scheme. I would hunt instead for wasps - the natural enemy of the bee - and host a small garden party in their honour. The bees, being jealous of the wasps, would swarm towards my home, whereupon I would capture them in some sort of tupperware and conduct my experiments upon them. I felt I should thank the wasps for their part in this, and settled upon a fresh cream meringue for each of them. I had got as far as donning a duffle coat to shield my brittle frame from the elements as I made my way to the bakers, when my finger tip made contact with something small and furry in the coat's deepest pocket.
Though I was understandably anxious about what this might be (I at first assumed it was Fingermouse), I forced myself to explore further. It was a dead bee. My plans had seemingly come to fruition, and I felt a surge of joy in several of my various glands.
This is a regular brute of a bee, and I have spent the bulk of today examining it with a tiny comb I have designed specifically for this purpose. No udders have yet revealed themselves, but I am hopeful that tomorrow will bring rich discoveries.
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