Bees

I really, really don't like stripy things. There are three types of stripy things. Wasps: the evil of all evil. They sting you for entertainment value alone. Then there are bees. Apparently they only sting you if they are depressed and in a suicidal mood. Finally, there is the bumble bee. As a general rule I love anything that is fluffy, so even though it is striped it can nearly get away with it.
But truth be told, no matter what category of stripy thing, I generally try to avoid them at all costs. This gave me a bit of a dilemma when I was in Italy. We were staying with L and her family when her brother A said something like "you for me take photo of my bee??". My first thought was "never in your life am I going anywhere close to a hive full of stripy things", but at the same time I was slightly intrigued by the challenge. I wondered if it would be possible to capture very small, fast flying stripy things with my new camera. So I agreed and set outside with my longest lens, trying to stay as far as possible from them. As luck would have it, they were way to busy to take any notice of me. I had no idea what I was doing, I just randomly pointed my camera in their direction on "auto" setting. Most pictures were out of focus, but now and again I was lucky enough to snap them in mid flight. As you can see in the photo above (admittedly probably the best one I got) some are hauling back a load of pollen. And seeing them just fascintated me. They really are busy as bees. Flying in and out endlessly. So I found a new respect for bees. As long as they keep out my house, away from my beer and stick to their hive. I can even get quite close to them without completely freaking out. And I even have a photo to prove it......

Photos with my new camera

Took me many months of wondering, deciding, checking out reviews. But eventually I got my new camera! I went for the Nikon d80. Just thought I would share some of my photos, taken at Kew Gardens and London zoo. (Just incase it is unclear, the photos of the animals are from London zoo and the ones of flowers are from Kew Gardens....

Can I be a Doctor too?

I have never really been big on titles. I always thought it a bit ridiculous when people change the title on their credit card to doctor the day after they receive their PhD.
But when it comes to Dr. P, my view changes. I mean it wouldn't be the same to call her P, would it? I was very proud when she finished her PhD and ever since have called her Dr. P. So when we applied for a joint bank account I made sure she wrote Dr. as her title. And of course being a Dr. myself, I didn't want to be left out so despite my former views, I wrote Dr as my title too.
I have to admit, I was a little disappointed when our cheque book came with Dr. P and Miss A written boldly on each cheque. Totally unfair, I was a Dr. nearly five years before Dr. P!!! I have been a doctor twice as long!! Infact, it should say Dr. P and DOCTOR A. But it doesn't and I guess I would be a right plonker if I wrote to them demanding the change.
So I'll just stick to being Miss A and Dr P can continue to turn red when they call over the tannoid at the airport "Would Dr. P please go immediately to gate 13, where you are delaying your flight". Who would expect that of a German Dr?????

A German invasion

A few weeks ago the Germans invaded. I have to say it was a shock to the system.
So it all started around 2pm, when I was at work. Dr. P called me and announced "my parents are sitting in our garden". I was a bit surprised, they weren't meant to arrive until about 5pm, but then again Germans like to be punctual. That's fine, but there really is a difference to being punctual and arriving three hours early.....

Not to worry, I dashed home from work (as Dr. P couldn't get away) and indeed came home to find two Germans sitting in my garden.

They were relaxing. But relaxing in Germany is not the same as anywhere else in the world. I've said it before but it's exhausting to watch Germans relax. Before too long I was clearing out my fridge to find place for the prawns transported from France. And then I was carrying a table and chairs from their mobile home to our living room. And then we were putting the legs on the chair. This was all in the first 20 minutes...

That evening, plans were made to go to the gym the next morning. Mr and Mrs P were sleeping in their mobile home and had keys to our flat. It takes 30 seconds to walk to the gym and it opens at 8am. All this had been carefully explained to them. So why were they standing in our living room, with their sport outfits on, ready to go at 7.30 AM????

I was just wondering if you cross a German with an Italian, do they come exactly on time?