The day-shift journal of Useless

Reassigned to bees. Was given a clipboard, a sun hat and the day shift, for once. Asked how many kinds of bee there are. “Over twenty thousand,” said someone. I have brought a bigger clipboard. checked

Tried to count the eyes on a bumblebee. Got to five and assumed I’d miscounted. I hadn’t. Two big ones and three tiny ones on top. I have two and I keep losing those. checked

Watched a bee walk across a flower and leave. Then another bee landed, sniffed and left at once. Turns out bumblebees have smelly feet and leave a “someone’s been here” note. I also leave notes. Mine are less useful. checked

Asked a bumblebee for some honey. It looked at me like I’d asked a cat for a bark. Bumblebees don’t make honey. Have bought some toast and no plan. checked

Learned the waggle dance. Straight up the comb means “fly towards the sun”. I danced straight up a wall and fell off. Nobody followed me to any flowers. checked

A honey bee makes about a twelfth of a teaspoon of honey in her whole life. I have made zero teaspoons of honey in mine. Feeling outworked by something the size of a paperclip. checked

Was told bumblebees “shouldn’t be able to fly” according to science. Checked. That’s folklore from a rough sum at a dinner party. The bee had not read it and flew off. Good for the bee. checked

A male carpenter bee buzzed right at my face. I screamed. He can’t even sting: only females can. I would like my scream back. checked

Found out most wild bees live alone and dig their nests in the ground. Have stopped tidying the bare patch by the shed. Calling it habitat. It was always habitat. checked

Read that the smallest bee is under two millimetres long. Tried to find one with a magnifying glass. Found a crumb. Named it anyway. checked

Wallace’s giant bee has a wingspan of about six and a half centimetres. That is longer than me lying down. I am an eraser. Still. checked

A bumblebee warmed up by shivering before take-off. Its flight muscles need to hit about 30 °C. I also shiver before doing anything. Nothing happens. checked

Tried buzz pollination on a tomato plant. You’re meant to vibrate. I vibrated. The tomato did nothing. A bumblebee arrived and did it properly in about a second. Showing off. checked

Forgot to mow. Bees everywhere. Decided I have always been a wildflower person. checked

Japanese honey bees deal with giant hornets by surrounding them and getting warm, about 47 °C. A hot huddle as a weapon. I want this for winter. checked

Plasterer bees line their nests with a natural polyester, a bit like cellophane. They are better at packing lunches than I am. checked

Visited a bee hotel. There were no tiny suitcases. Solitary bees just check in, lay eggs and leave. Five stars, they said. (They didn’t say anything.) checked

Honey bees can count to about four. I counted to four with them to bond. Then I lost count. They didn’t. checked

Bumblebee workers live four to six weeks. Busiest four weeks you’ve ever seen. I spent four weeks looking for my other googly eye. checked

Asked why the queen bee gets royal jelly. Because a larva fed only on it becomes a queen. Have started eating jam on everything. No change so far. checked

Learned about cuckoo bees, who sneak their eggs into other bees’ nests. I once left my washing in someone else’s machine. Same energy. checked

Final note of the season. About three quarters of the world’s food crop types rely at least a bit on pollinators. I am going to thank a bee. Politely. From a distance. checked