All right, here's the bee story. If you know me in real life, you've definitely already heard it. Everyone else, buckle up!

The first thing you need to know is that at this time, we lived in a rural area. Loads of trees, right in nature's pocket. The second thing you need to know is that I love bees. As in: 'default birthday present' love bees. The third thing you need to know before our story begins is that I was stung by bees multiple times as a kid, and it is quite possible I am deathly allergic.

Which brings us to a summer's day a couple of years ago, where a swarm of bees decided to move in with us...

I hear the humming first, and look out the window. Huh, I think to myself. That's a lot of flies. The moment I realise they're bees, I get exited for all of thirty seconds. I've read books! I know what this is - it's a swarm! A swarm is easy to recognise. It's essentially a great ball of bees crawling all over each other. That wasn't exactly what I had. You see, I recognised they were swarming - but for me, what I saw was a very small swarm. Except no, no it wasn't! It was just that I could only see a small part of it.

Hm, I think to myself. There sure are a lot of bees coming in and out of that crack in our wall.

It is at this point my exitement fades.

I don't think I need to explain why a beehive in your living room is a bad idea. But there was more to it. You see, when bees pick up all at once and decide to move house, this is what causes the swarming. The workers load up with all the honeycomb, all the energy, all the food stores and wax their teeny bodies can carry. Every single one looks like she's wearing little yellow pantaloons. That honeycomb is what they build the new hive out of, and if they put it down, even a little bit of it, all the other bees smell it. They all get the message. 'Ah, this is the new hive!' they all decide, and then they put their honeycomb down as well.

Because if there is one thing bees are good at smelling, it's honeycomb. And if they can smell it, they can find it. Even months later.

Not good.

So there I am, standing underneath the wall where these bees are coming in and out. Hands on hips, sweating. It's a red brick wall - the old country house kind, with two layers of bricks, and the bees have found a gap inside. The only way to relocate a swarm is to find the queen, 'cos they'll all follow her. And our queen here was definitely holed up nice and safe inside that red brick wall. The only way I was getting her out was with a sledghammer.

For multiple reasons, this would have been a Bad Plan.

But I didn't want to kill them either, and this was looking like my only other option. The longer they stayed, the less chance of getting them out, and the higher chance the next swarm would pick the same spot! Because traces of that honeycomb would still be in there, maybe even years later, and the other bees would still be able to smell it. It's what they're great at smelling.

So obviously the first thing I tried was wet tissue paper.

A swarm is actually quite docile! They need to conserve energy. All that honeycomb, wax, and food stores - it can't go to waste. It has to last until they get to the new hive. So they need every worker they can hold onto, and that means no stinging, 'cos obviously that's suicide for the bee. Point is, I wasn't about to get stung. So long as I was careful. Carefully, I began to lob wet chunks of tissue paper at the swarm of bees.

My hope here was to block their way in. If I could stop the entire swarm from settling down inside our house, I was hoping they'd feel unwelcome enough to move on. But I tell you what: I was winning no prizes for accuracy. Wet tissue paper is not very aerodynamic at the best of times, and I had the pathetic over-arm throw of a person who - at every family get-together since the age of five - skipped playing cricket to go read a book instead.

But it worked. It worked!

I notice it after about half an hour. There were definitely less bees. Yes, definitely less bees swarming around the entrance! And then only a scattered bunch, and then only a handful, and then one or two confused little workers floating around! I did it! It had worked!

Then one of the bees flies past my ear. My head tracks to follow it...

...and I see the rest of the swarm.

Over on the other wall.

Crawling inside a second goddamn crack in the brickwork.

At this point, I went inside for a drink. When things are stressful, no matter how important they might be, it is nevertheless worth having a drink of water and a little sit-down, and taking your time about things. Sometimes, it solves the problem quicker.

Sitting there at the kitchen table, I'm able to have a quiet moment.

I like bees. I've read books.

But I've only read books. I had no practical experience - no life skills. I wasn't a beekeeper.

And then it comes to me.

You see, at this time I was also volunteering part-time at a local garden. It's a big place, with over 100 volunteers all told, and we weren't the only people that used those gardens. And I remembered there was this small shed that none of the gardeners ever went near. I walked past it every day. It was corrugated iron, unobtrusive - identical to the other sheds around it - but sometimes strange noises came from inside it. A deep mechanical rumbling, as if that of a metal drum turning, processing...

'The local beekeeper's association.' my superior told me, when I had asked. 'They keep tools and stuff there. They come in every two weeks or so, to process the honey'.

It's a wonderful thing, community.

So I started calling up beekeepers. Each one has an area they manage, and it looks like they have to drive out to pick up swarms pretty often. I call three beekeepers. The first doesn't pick up. The second doesn't pick up. And the third doesn't pick up. But as I'm about to call the fourth, the third one calls me back.

"You've got a swarm out there, have you?" he says. "Sorry I couldn't get to the phone. I was just sitting by the extrator, and I didn't hear it ring." He is a him. The beekeepers on the list are all over 50, all white, and male, barring a couple random exceptions. The man is a perfect stranger, and yet there is something non-threatening about him over the phone. A shared love of bees, it might be.

"It's like I said in the voicemail," I reply. "The queen's in the wall where I can't get to her."

A thoughtful silence follows.

"I can't get out there," he says, "And I haven't got any spare box hives anyway, else I'd swing by tomorrow." We both know tomorrow's going to be too late. "It's not the best option, but..."

"I know," I say. "But I really don't want to kill them! I love bees. It's just, if they get settled inside the wall, we'll need a sledgehammer to get them out."

"No," he agrees. No beekeeper wants to kill a swarm. It goes against something in the soul. These are people that endure painful stings, inclement weather, and who drive hours out of their everyday lives for the sake of these insects. And the lunatic thing is they don't see it as an inconvenience. It's just - one more thing on the to-do list. And they go to these lengths simply to prevent harm from coming to a swarm, to protect them - it's another thing entirely to ask a beekeeper to deliberately kill a swarm, with poison and fumes. It feels a bit like murder. It feels sad.

No beekeeper wants to. But beekeepers, like bees, are also usually practical, and the third beekeeper comes to the same conclusion as I do: which is that if the bees get properly settled inside the brickwork, poison is going to be our only option.

"That is, if there's no way we can get them to move on," he says.

And then, "Hm," he says.

A thoughtful silence follows.

"I remember, there was this one thing," he says, slowly. "You could try spraying them with the hose..."

"The water hose?"

"Yes - there was a situation a while back. It helped me then, it might help you now. If you can block the gap as well, somehow. You know, the bees are actually quite docile when they're swarming-"

I am already walking across the yard towards the water hose. "Yes, I know."

He keeps me talking for a little while longer. The conversation is an enthusiastic mixture of mutual bee fact exchange, advice, and the current swarms he's collected recently. He explains a little bit about how the honey extractor works, how the beekeeper's association works, and how often he drives out places to pick up swarms. He asks me if I want to keep bees, maybe. He has a couple of swarms spare.

"Deeply." I answer. "But there's a chance I might be deathly allergic, and besides, I move around too much, which isn't good for the hives."

"No, no, that's true. Hm. You better put on a long sleeve shirt." His voice is fuzzy on the line, and still, somehow, non-threatening. "And long pants. A jumper if you've got one. And don't swat them if they come close! They know how you're feeling, so if you stay calm they'll stay calm. The swarms are quite docile, you know, they hardly sting at all-"

"Yeah, I got it, I got it."

"Oh and one last thing - one last bit of advice-"

"Be careful?" I say, a little flippant.

"No." He says, firmly. "Be brave. Can you do that?"

I give it silence. And then, thoughtfully, "Yes."

"Okay. Be brave, and you'll be all right."

"Got it."

He wishes me luck, explains about the honey extractor again, and then finally lets me go. I go inside, get changed, and walk out. I perfectly resemble the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man.

And then, I water the swarm.

And oh boy let me tell you, the air was thick with them, it was alive with them! A hot drone brushing past my left cheek, a rainbow of water. Afterwards, I still see them swarming behind my eyelids, like an after-image, over-exposure. I still hear the hum, afterwards. Like the sound had gotten stuck in my ears. The bees crawl out of the wall into the sunshine, and they sit there a moment while their wings dry, and the whole time I'm basically thinking three things. The first thing I'm thinking is 'I love you' and the second thing is 'please leave!' And the third thing, which I say aloud to myself every now and again for the reminder, is just "be brave." And I am, because I need to be. It is remarkably easy to be calm when you have no other choice.

An hour later, they're gone. And I wasn't stung once!

So that was the bee story. If there's a message there, it's this:

"If you find a swarm of bees somewhere you don't want it, there's probably a local beekeeper (whose number you can find online) who will take care of it for free."

It's good to read books. But for some things a bit of practical experience is better.

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