I had the most delightfully strange conversation with the Queen Bee this morning. For those who don’t know, the queen of my sentient bees will occasionally decide to wander my garden, and the woods beyond, in something vaguely approaching humanoid form. Tall and thin, with a pale, pointed face, eyes of pure black, and small antennae growing from her forehead. As I said, humanoid, not human.

Thankfully she’s not terribly sociable – other than with bees and the occasional butterfly – so no hikers have reported an alien sighting just yet.

I encountered her among the roses, a favourite spot for her workers, drifting between the beds, stray rose petals, and the occasional full bloom, swirling in her wake.

I think she’d been waiting for me, as she glided in my direction as soon as I stepped between the hedges.

“Good morning, Your Majesty.” It doesn’t hurt to be polite to royalty, especially when they supply all your honey and beeswax.

She inclined her head, then raised her arms, holding them out to the side, and turned slowly. I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to be looking at, her, or our surroundings.

I suppose she picked up on my confusion as she said. “My robes. They are not in keeping with the world as it is. I require other raiment. How?”

I’m not sure I’m ever going to be able to get the vision of the Queen Bee in jeans and a purple t-shirt emblazoned with ‘I really lilac you’ out of my mind’s eye.

I cleared my throat and asked. “What type of clothing would you prefer?” I gestured at myself. Yes I was in jeans, but my t-shirt said ‘You know it’s been a good day when I didn’t have to unleash the flying monkeys’.

The Queen Bee scanned my outfit and shook her head. “The soft woollen covering with the open front, with pockets, at least two pockets.”

Ahhh, she wanted a cardigan. I knew just the place to go.

That afternoon, I returned to the rose garden with a shopping bag. The Queen Bee appeared a moment later, her head tilting in question.

I pulled the cardigan out of the bag and held it up for inspection. Big, loose, in a soft sage green, the cardigan would drape perfectly over her narrow shoulders and dropped far enough to pass even her hips and, most importantly, there were two huge patch pockets.

She half raised her arms this time. “How?”

I showed her how to hold on to the hem of her sleeve – nothing worse than wafty dangling sleeves jammed around your elbows – then helped her on with the cardigan.

She twirled once it was on, then tucked her hands into the pockets. “It has pockets.”

I’m sure she would have smiled if she’d been capable.

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