Oh, bee-have!

Status: Busy
Mood: Buzzing

Just by standing on the train, manage to strike panic and horror into heart of woman two commuters away from me. With hand not hanging from her strap, she's making frantic signals and hysterically waggling eyebrows in my direction.

Look behind me. Then, to either side. Flapping and waggling continues.

She approaches, in the same way a damsel in distress might approach fire-breathing dragon. (Am not that scary, surely?)

With trembling index finger, she jabs at a spot just about an inch above my heart. Look down, squinting, and see a brown blob. Too close to focus instantly (bi-focals here I come!), wonder what it might be (please God, don't let it be dried pigeon pooh).

Penny drops as it moves slightly. It has legs - six of 'em.
A bee. In November. On my denim jacket. In an enclosed tube packed with people. Underground.

Am usually of the "don't bother them and they'll leave you alone" school re bees.

Most fellow commuters are not.

Gasps of horror follow as they spot the sleepy striped beast now crawling across my breast pocket. They imagine scenes of epic horror if the unseasonal insect decides to run rampant on the Metro.

First horrified traveller grabs a tissue and grasps Ms Bumble, then hands her to me. "Hold on tight til you get out" she orders.

Spend rest of journey with hapless honey bee scrunched between thumb and index finger, not wanting to crush her, but aware of responsibility to save fellow travellers from their nightmare scenario.

Half an hour later, step out of station and seek out flower bed to place my captive. Hope she likes roses. If not, there might be a gang of her buzzing buddies waiting to wreak her revenge later.

If so, hope they sting me on my right hand, where I have now lost all sensation.