From A to Bee Page 4

  For the end of the course, we had a film to watch. It felt a bit like the last day of school when you were a child and you were able to play games or watch the TV. What fun! Halfway through there was a knock on the door and in entered, in my mind, the most beautiful specimen of a beekeeper. The beekeeper I had always imagined. The beekeeper that maybe one day I will be. The beekeeper that everybody knows. The beekeeper that looked, to me, like a morris dancer! It immediately set me at ease. My original stereotypes might be real after all. Here in front of me was a real beekeeper.

  Andrew walked in: a bit dishevelled, aged about sixty (I hope that is kind if you are reading this Andrew) with a full-on beard; it was a beard that any man would be proud of, sculpted yet disorganised, fluffy yet manly, the colour and consistency akin to that of Father Christmas. I think I had beard envy. Andrew had little rosy cheeks, though I have to say it was probably due to the cold weather outside rather than an abuse of local ales or cider. He also had a rather large belly, one I would expect of a beekeeper, and a lovely and jolly character.

  I knew this was all an act and yet Andrew and David made the perfect double act, lulling you into joining a local association. It must be said however, it did sound like the right thing to do, especially as it meant there was a wealth of knowledge at your fingertips and people to share experiences with locally. No doubt I will need this next year.

  I didn't need too much convincing. Here I was standing in front of my idea of a real beekeeper, and I was happy to do whatever he recommended. I pretty much filled out his rather crumpled up and damp forms while he was there but thought I'd better speak to Jo first. Andrew made his exit into the night, obviously satisfied that he had bagged a few more recruits, including a 'Young One' as he called me in obvious delight when I took away his information and membership form with such enthusiasm.

  We watched the rest of the film summarising the course and it was actually the first time I had seen bees in action and beekeepers working with them. It was something to behold, thinking that in a few months, that could be me.

  The paperwork David was filling out while we watched turned out to be our certificates. At the end we had a ceremony to certify that we had all attended the course. It felt a little like a passing-out parade as we all shook hands with the inspector himself and he wished us luck. We all said our polite goodbyes, left the classroom and headed into the cold dark November evening, certificate in hand, feeling just a little bit more the beekeeper than we were when we first walked into that classroom ten weeks previously. As I walked away looking at my scroll of paper, through the magnificent surroundings of this beautiful institution, alongside some other wannabe beekeepers, I only wished that school had been like this. However, our impending visit to the local pub definitely confined those wishes to the grave, especially as I would get served without question these days.

  Still, I am now some way to becoming a beekeeper and I am desperate to get my hands dirty.

  NOVEMBER 26

  The nights are drawing in so quickly and the days are so short there isn't a lot of time to do anything. We put Sebastian to bed and I have come downstairs to think about where I go with my beekeeping. As I sit on the sofa next to the window staring out into the black, only to see my reflection looking back at me (I am not one for pulling the curtains closed too quickly at night), it seems strange to think I have been whipped up into a frenzy of excitement and amazement about these little insects, only to have to wait for a few months before I can actually do anything practical. There is no way of getting bees this late on in the season as it is just too cold outside. According to David, you generally obtain bees two ways: by receiving a swarm, or buying a small hive of bees from a recognised source. Either way, this won't happen until late spring at the earliest so I have to temper this excitement for now and do as much reading around the subject as possible.

  Part of me wishes there had been a spring course so I could have gone out and got involved in the practical elements immediately. Heaven knows where I am going to get my bees from, regardless of whether I opt for a swarm or recognised supplier. Another great reason to sign up to the local association. I shall try to have a chat with some of the people there.

  One thing I am definitely aspiring to next year is this one jar of honey. Apparently, if you get your bees early enough, it shouldn't be too hard, though it isn't a given. Knowing my luck I will probably make a pig's ear out of it and stand no chance of getting that jar of honey at all. If I am lucky enough to fill a jar next year, I should imagine I will celebrate by sharing a freshly toasted slice of bread dripping with my honey with Jo and Sebastian. I couldn't think of any better way to mark the end of the first year.

  I find myself looking around in supermarkets at the honey and considering where it comes from. By this I mean geographically rather than the obvious origin of a beehive, although I would put a bet on the fact that some honey has no link to bees or beehives whatsoever given our ability to create artificial foodstuffs.

  As I look out onto my now-dark garden I can only imagine how wonderful it will be to taste the honey from my own garden. It must be a lovely feeling, knowing that the honey you have on your toast is coming from your own flowers. I wonder if you can taste the flowers. It sounds a strange thought, but as I now know you get different sorts of honey, I wonder if there will be a particular 'James's garden honey' taste.

  I am now resolute, my mind made up, whatever the cost I will make a jar of honey next year. I shall stand next to the hive and order them all to fly just that little bit more, to work just that little bit harder in the hope that I can save face with everyone and enjoy just one single jar! If I am doing this beekeeping malarkey, I have to consider the bees first, of course – but consider my breakfast table a very close second.

  DECEMBER 2

  Today I managed to sit down and read some of the information I was given by the Reigate Beekeepers' Association which all seems pretty comprehensive. I never realised before what the membership entailed but I am really quite impressed. The cost of membership, for all the added benefits, seems quite reasonable. I am entitled to attend all of the summer and winter meetings and lectures and by the looks of things there are many, not all of them terribly enticing, ranging from AGMs and EGMs to Australian beekeeping talks and candle-making workshops – now what would my friends think of me attending the latter? One did catch my eye though: making mead. That might be a more acceptable course for me to attend and even to gain some respect amongst peers; perhaps after they had enjoyed a few glasses of my homemade brew.

  The fee also includes insurance for up to three beehives; something I didn't realise was required. Apparently you need it on two levels. Firstly, your bees might sting someone who could take issue with it and sue you – though how on earth could anyone prove it was your bee in the first place?! I suppose if they were standing next to the hive then yes, but I can't imagine someone being stung 3 miles away, seeing the dead bee on the floor, examining it and noticing that it had the hallmark of a Dearsley bee! It does seem crazy that you now need insurance against 'your' bees stinging people. What is the world coming to?

  Secondly and on a more serious note, the insurance provides compensation in case you lose your hives. There are some bad diseases (American foul brood is one such disease) where you have to inform a government department immediately. They will send over an inspector who, if it is confirmed, will dig a hole in the ground, put the hives into it and set fire to them. What an awful sight that must be.

  Insurance aside, I know that joining the association is the way to go. For my beekeeping experiences it is obviously right but, personally, I still know very few people locally despite Jo and me moving here over four years ago. This will be a nice way to get to know the locals.

  DECEMBER 5

  Just realised my membership form is still on the bureau by the door. Note to self: must put a stamp on it and post it!

  DECEMBER 9

  Jo must have finally got fed up with a letter
clogging up the bureau and posted my membership form and cheque today! I wonder what happens from here. The last time I joined a club was when, as a child, I joined the Dennis the Menace Fan Club for about six pence.

  I remember jumping for joy as a Dennis the Menace-themed envelope dropped through the letterbox. For an eight-year old child it was the equivalent of Christmas, receiving a red and black envelope with your name on the front. Inside were two badges but one was extra special: Gnasher's badge which was furry and had those eyes that sat in a little clear Perspex lens and moved around when you shook the badge. I remember wearing it for weeks on end and never wanting to take it off, telling all my mates that I was now a member of the Dennis the Menace Fan Club.

  Not so sure that the Reigate Beekeepers' Association will be sending me through a yellow and black striped envelope with bee-themed badges any time soon but there is the same level of anticipation my end. Having not joined a club for nearly twenty-five years this feels like a big moment for me!

  DECEMBER 20

  Jo and I have always loved Christmas and this year seems all the more special as it's our first as parents. The tree has been up for a while now, much to Sebastian's interest; he just lies there looking up at the sparkling lights, trying desperately to reach out and grab a bauble. I should imagine it is far better than looking up at the usual array of soft toys.

  For some reason we have decided to cook the family dinner this year. The idea was simple: we wouldn't have to travel with Sebastian, which could have been a challenge. However, it does mean there is the rather complex thought of planning the Christmas dinner for around ten people, all of whom are excellent cooks in their own right. Since Jo will no doubt need to feed Sebastian mid-basting, it means cooking duties are left to me. Heaven knows what will happen and whether the Yorkshire puddings will rise or fall flat, whether the roast potatoes will be crunchy on the outside and fluffy on the inside and whether the gravy will be 'just right'. I am starting the planning now!

  With the decorations out, we are getting ready for the arrival of Father Christmas for Sebastian, and I can only think that it is a magical time of year. It's all the little things about being a father at Christmas which I haven't experienced before that I am looking forward to. Perhaps the highlight will be helping Sebastian put a carrot and mince pie out for Father Christmas and Rudolph by the log stove. I am going to mention, obviously, that Father Christmas will be tremendously thirsty after such a long journey. I am sure Sebastian will help me to pour a small drop of port to quench his thirst and give him a little bit of warmth in that rather rotund tummy of his.

  Thinking of men with beards and round tummies… I wonder what bees do for Christmas? I wonder if they all gather round the centre of the hive for a specially prepared Christmas dinner of honey and extra-special pollen titbits.

  DECEMBER 25

  Father Christmas dutifully came down our chimney and drank our offerings of a glass of port (it somehow managed to be two glasses in the end!) and ate the mince pie. Rudolph obviously wasn't hungry, however, and only took one bite out of his carrot. Typical isn't it, you try to offer an option of fruit and vegetables and look what happens?

  It was the most lovely day, and indeed the roast potatoes were crunchy, the Yorkshire puddings did rise and the turkey was cooked fantastically well, if I do say so myself. Sebastian was like a dream, if a little bemused why all the family was around, everybody opening presents and acting just a little bit tipsy. I am sure he was even more bemused by the sight of both nannies asleep on the sofa snoring at one point.

  I was also very lucky with my presents and my obvious love for bees and beekeeping has become well known. Jo bought me a lovely bee mug in which I have been having copious cups of tea today. I was hoping for a complete beehive, smoker, bee suit, hive tool, bee brush, solar wax extractor, honey extractor and every other beekeeping contraption known to man. However, Father Christmas was either not aware of such contraptions, was too worried about weighing down his sleigh or he simply couldn't bring himself to get the elves to build such things. Imagine having to go to the elves and state 'James Dearsley from Surrey in England would like a solar wax extractor'. There would be uproar about such a silly piece of equipment and why anyone in their right mind would want such a thing. Oh well, maybe next year!

  I go to bed a very happy man. Primarily because it was my son's first proper Christmas but also because I have a wonderful family, a wonderful home and life couldn't be much better.

  DECEMBER 31

  Our celebrations on New Year's Eve are always a favourite of mine: celebrating the last year and looking forward to the next. Jo and I also now have a tradition to have a get-together with a group of our closest friends and this year was no different. Suffice to say we always have a lovely evening with the nicest of people; we eat far too much, play silly quizzes – which I always end up losing horrendously – have fabulous and interesting discussions, watch the fireworks and celebrations on TV, all before retiring to have a few more glasses of plonk or something a little bit stronger.

  Another traditional aspect of our New Year's Eve celebrations is the challenges. I can't remember how it came about but several years ago we decided to make ourselves better people that following year.

  I set myself a challenge for last year of making a Heston Blumenthal recipe. With Michelin stars aplenty, he is known to be one of the best chefs in the world with recipes such as snail porridge and mustard ice cream. Having seen a recent programme on the remaking of classic British food in his particular style and then realising there was an accompanying cookbook, I decided that I could do one of them. Earlier this month I realised that I had still yet to complete the challenge and so, for some reason I decided to be the cook on New Year's Eve using Heston's cookbook for inspiration to create a slightly different take on chilli con carne. It took me three days to make and cost me a fortune!

  The pièce de résistance was using dry ice to make a sour cream sorbet to go with the chilli and, oh my, what fun I had with that. We were all there, champagne in hand while I put the sour cream into a mixer and then added dry ice. It was chaos. On went the blender and we were instantly covered in the most amazing smoke, the type you see at rock concerts. But within about thirty seconds I had sour cream sorbet and we were all walking on dry ice smoke clouds. Such a great experience and one I would recommend to anybody.

  The conversation came around to our challenges for the coming year. My mind had obviously already been made up and there was no impulse predicting this year for me as there was last. Some of those around the table were obviously panicking. Matt wanted to start an apple orchard, Neil wanted to act in a Shakespearean play, Jill wanted to watch more silent movies from the 1930s and Jo wanted to learn Italian.

  My turn came, and there was silence around the table. Considering they had just seen me almost break every implement in the kitchen with dry ice in a last ditch attempt to conclude last year's challenge, it was a big moment. It was the moment I had feared: the first time I would admit to the outside world that I was about to become a beekeeper.

  'I would like to become a beekeeper and, with the bees' help, make one jar of honey next year.'

  There was silence.

  Matt eventually went, 'Wow.'

  'Really?' said Jill.

  'Fantastic!' said Neil.

  Jo, whose head was in her hands, started to look up, visibly relieved that we weren't about to be ostracised by some of our closest friends.

  My coming out as a beekeeper had gone well. We proceeded to talk about beekeeping and bees, the troubles they were in and how it affected us, not to mention how honey was made and how I would get a jar next year. Several glasses of port and wine later, we were merrily concocting stories of Italian silent films depicting Hamlet planting an apple orchard and putting beehives around the outside to help pollination. I was happy and I felt I was on my way.

  Happy New Year.

  JANUARY 1, 2010

  Ouch.

  For t
he first time I realised that a young child and New Year's Eve do not really work. Despite our going to bed at about 3 a.m. still laughing about Hamlet planting orchards, Sebastian was up at 6.59 a.m. just like clockwork, wanting a feed.

  JANUARY 6

  After the overindulgence of New Year's Eve I felt terrible for days, but today is my birthday. I am the grand age of thirty-one and feel a very lucky man. I have a wonderful wife and a lovely little man. I live in a wonderful area of the British Isles and have a nice job that, though it is hard work, stressful and I work long hours, affords me the life I would like to lead. Things do not get too much better but to top it all, Jo got me an amazing present. It is a book entitled The Beekeeping Bible and it is 2 feet thick with everything you could ever imagine needing to know about beekeeping inside. Part of Jo's inscription reads: 'Here are a few tips to get your one jar of honey this year.' A few tips??!! It will take me a year just to read the book.