I ought to get me a yard glass.
Not that I drink so much ale, I just remember it from Doctor in the House, often accompanied with the line “He would have made a fine Protestant.”
Don’t tell the Archbishop.
Don’t ask.
Is that like a don’t ask, don’t tell situation?
I couldn’t tell you.
I was just asking.
Ask and ye shall receive. But not from me.
Tell the moon dog,
Tell the March hare.
Apropos of that:
After the death of Queen Elizabeth II in 2022, the Royal Beekeeper, John Chapple, told the bees of Buckingham Palace and Clarence House of her death and the accession of King Charles III.[8] Chapple said: “You knock on each hive and say, ‘The mistress is dead, but don’t you go. Your master will be a good master to you.’”[9]
Pretty cool. I’ll share that with two beekeepers I know.
I bet they already know all about the custom. Very cool indeed.
Bees don’t care about Kings, they are temporary.
I don’t care about the queen’s or the king’s bees. I bet the buggers don’t even make proper honey, only royal jelly. Snobs.
On a drive through the country, I asked about those small white structures in the fields, “Is that housing for migrant farm workers?”
Well, yeah, you could say that.
That’s the bees’ knees!
To bee or not to bee…that is the question all aspiring beekeepers must ask themselves.
Bee always make me want to go outside and take a pee, airy.
Let me tell you about the birds and the bees and @eschereal passing pee and the moon up above . . . Let me tell about yellow snow.
Watch out where the huskies go.