Feather.

I spent the morning finishing the manufacturing of hive floors; they do get dirty, particularly over winter, and should be replaced and taken away for sterilising. Even in the old days, before the need for hygiene was appreciated, we used to do this every spring – if nothing else, it gave the bees less work to do. The proprietary floors cost very nearly £36 (plus p&p) but, since the materials cost about a fiver and I can knock one up inside a couple of hours, I don’t feel inclined to spent that sort of money. In the words of Ronnie Barker, “I’m not actually a Scot, but I am definitely Scottish.” The difference between the two terms means that I lack the generosity gene that nature bequeathed on the Aberdonians. I am not, by nature, a skilled joiner; my father would turn in his grave if he were to witness the manner in which I butcher pieces of wood; while he could turn a few planks into presentable items of furniture, I merely turn them into structures that don’t collapse during use. But, handsome is as handsome does – as the saying goes. Perhaps I should have made one of them the subject of today’s Blip – maybe some other time.

Instead, this afternoon, I went out for a stroll and came home with a wet camera containing a flat battery and a picture of a feather that had been dropped by a passing pigeon; the excursion had been curtailed due to me forgetting to put put a spare battery in the pocket of my waterproof jacket, a failing compounded by me forgetting to wear the jacket in spite of the weather looking decidedly “iffy.” The rain stopped as soon as I was back indoors.

My thanks are due to Kaybee for the inspiration; where-as my effort looks like a desperation Blip, his are carefully and elegantly composed.