Monday 30th March

I awake uneasily after a vivid dream, which I cannot now remember. Discussing this with my husband over breakfast, I decide that the feelings raised by the dream are partly anxiety and partly excitement at moving back into the world. Since the birth of James, now over 2 years old, I have never left him for the evening. If we have gone out, he has always come with us. He is a very sociable and inquiring boy, and while I am sure he would gain a lot from the class, I judge that he will probably enjoy playing with Dad much more.
That evening, I arrive at the high school building where the course is to take place. The janitor on duty looks at me and says the single word "Beekeeping?" I nod, wondering if my rash decision to raid my daughter's bedroom and add a pair of jade coloured tights to my outfit has marked me out in some way. "Can you tell?" I ask. "Not really, there's no other classes on tonight. Down this corridor, through the double doors, turn right and follow the buzz" I wonder how many times he will use that joke.
He is right, though. The buzz is not so much bees, but the voices of many aspiring beekeepers. I enter and hand my forms and cheque to the official looking lady sitting by the door. In return she gives me a purple pocket folder containing the course notes, some other documents, a name card to put on my desk and a reporter's style notebook from the chain store Staples. The room is already busy and there are a few seats at the back. I regret forgetting to bring my glasses.
My classmates are a very mixed bunch - two or three really young looking men (although I am now at an age where anyone under 45 looks really young), a few young mums and dads, a couple of men who look as if they are of retiring age and people in their 30s, 40s and 50s. Some have bees already, most of us don't. The lady in front of me turns round and introduces herself. A lovely Welsh girl, she has travelled down from Perthshire to attend the class. We are joined by a young Spanish father. Fortunately he has only had to travel in from Edinburgh. He desperately wants to keep bees, but lives next to a primary school so... The classroom begins to fill up - extra chairs are brought in from another room. It has been a warm day, so the windows are opened. Our lecturer stands up and the class begins.
We have two theory teachers - Al, who was the organiser and author of the emails, and Big Al, who does the main teaching. Big Al has a very pleasing North East accent which somehow seems just right for talking about bees. They work well together in a sort of odd couple way - very funny but very knowledgeable. I feel in safe hands.
We begin with a PowerPoint presentation on what the course will cover and some basic information on bees and their anatomy and different types of hives. A long Q and A session yields a lot of information we beginners are keen to know. We all wonder about the same things. Where to put hives, what about the neighbours, will we get stung, what will the bees do to our pets, why are they dying, how do you control varroa, will we ever get to go on holiday again, how much time do they take up,will they swarm..... Al and Big Al answer each query patiently and comprehensively. I leave at the end of the class with a great deal more knowledge and the faintest glimmerings of a feeling that I might, just might, be able to think about possibly keeping some bees.