A Tribute to Bees

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Something’s happened

They’re rising up

The pollinative

Rebels

Are a buzzing cause

They are being

Forgotten

Waggling flags

Of yellow and

Black

‘comb the fields

Like

poppies

A fleeting Reminder

The battleground

Of blades

Of grass

Of Flower

The pollinators have

Mobilised

Against giants

And

Pests

The pollifactions

The Workers

The Queen

No longer divided

Take flight

In

Hexagon formations

They attack and

Sting

Buzzing anger sings

Loud

Their ecological ideas

Manifesto

Fall under

Concrete ears

Their nectar truly is

Nothing more than surplus

Their bodies

Their work

Their worth

Beautiful

Ignored

Who else will hear their buzzing fears?

Honey is sweet victory to industry

Industry is death to all else

#SaveTheBees

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Review Number Eight

8) The Wayside Cafe – Dartmoor

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Can’t believe how long it has been since I’ve gone out for a cream tea. I was at it at least once a week before the summer heat glazed in. I guess I’ve had a season of anti-overkill. I needed to give my addiction a rest. I needed a cream-less recovery, I was rehabbing from jam and I had scone cold-turkey.

(See what I did there? Aren’t I funny?)

Anyway, after a many, many months of avoiding this Devonshire delicacy my friend Becca decided enough was enough. She has always been my faithful scone eating companion and it was her brilliant idea to end my lent.

So, off in her new car we went, to have a refreshing jaunt around the moorish country sides of Dartmoor. The only place that has realised it’s actually November (everywhere else in Devon hasn’t quite got that particular memo yet). We were greeted with an unexpected wintery breeze and a lot of waterlogged soil.

I have always loved the dramatic landscape of the moors and there is nothing like a hike up a Tor to get your appetite going. We managed to clamber up two Tor’s before our bellies started to grumble… slightly… and I found animalistic pleasure in journeying through the heather and jumping over all the boulders. I was the braver of the two (of course); I battled the hellish winds to stand on top of the large conglomeration of rocks while Becca remained dignified on the sheltered ground.

I almost got blown over doing the super man pose! It was terribly scary for everyone involved…

Sure it was.

Yeah… Becca just laughed at me and once I had regained my balance I scarpered of those rocks quicker than… well… a slow moving person… it was a pitiful escapade.

As was the picture that was taken! I looked nothing like superman… all that fear and effort for a picture that looked like I was just pushing an invisible rock. Super.

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After that we decided it was time to seek warmth and nibbles. So hopping back in the car, with moist boots, we made our way to Widecombe. A quaint village with gift shops, cafes and an awful lot of sentimental value, for me anyway. This was the place that I transformed from girl to girlfriend and being back there without my Bandicoot felt like a sordid affair.

‘AH WELL! SCONES ARE A CALLING! I’M SURE MY ASHY WILL FORGIVE ME!’ were my hungry, hungry words when we drove into the car park.

Luckily ‘our’ cafe wasn’t open so Becca and I sought refuge in the one next door; The Wayside Cafe.

It was nice.

Nice?

(Yeah I know… what a blasé word to use, but it really was the epitome of nice.)

In few more simple words – it was clean, warm and open.

I kid, let’s get into the details! The room was like an elongated village hall, the wooden floorboards made every sound echo and the large pane windows allowed the last dregs of sunlight to flood in. If it didn’t remind me of a school canteen so much, it would’ve been really quaint. Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t the worst vibe in the world, I just had that haunting feeling that if I spoke too loudly a teacher would come rushing in to tell me off. I’m sure if they replaced the brown plastic chairs and vinyl tablecloths that would all change. The service in there was lightening fast though; I can’t deny how attentive the staff were in there. Our cream teas were in front of us almost as soon as we had ordered them and it wasn’t long before we were tucking into them too.

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So… time to get back into serious reviewing mode, man it has been a while, time to look over the old ‘scone-scale’ me-thinks!

On a single plate of blue china they had served all three ingredients. The scone; warm and of a decent size, was settled next to two generous helpings of cream and jam. Never before have I experienced such a liberal act. Usually these condiments are presented in pots or miniature jars but here they had simply scooped them up and plonked them on the plate alongside the bun. Saves on washing up I’m sure, but I couldn’t help but feel this was an act of anarchy…

Allowing these dollops of pleasure to roam free-range on the earthenware, liberated from the confining vessels of glass and bone china, certainly danced a messy dance on my expectations. I’d make a great speech maker wouldn’t I? Haha!

It was different and after many months of forgoing this treat I didn’t feel disappointed. I felt content and reasonably full afterwards, the tea definitely made my chilly hands feel better (even if by the second helping it had gone weak and grey, seems to always happen to us doesn’t it Becca?) They were tasty little morsels, the perfect balance of crumbly and moist which I liked very much and they were warm… WARM!!! Nom nom nom…

*Continues to nom until the nomming subsides.*

It wasn’t the best scone I had ever tasted but it certainly wasn’t horrible either. It was good (Back to the simple words eh?) Once we both visited the school lavatory… I mean cafe toilets… ahem… we went on our way, driving off into the dwindling sunset whilst boogieing along to a Now Hits CD.

It was a triumphant return, one that inspired me to get back on the old reviewing horse, I shan’t ever forget it.

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The photo’s will certainly help! (Hope you’ve noticed my face in this post… I am truly embracing the fact that this is MY blog now! I’m the one in the puffy maroon number… just in case you didn’t quite cotton on…)