I have, however, been watching it avidly over the last few weeks in the hope of picking up some bargains for a second, or even a third, hive. This has meant trying to gauge how good a piece of kit is and then decide how much I am prepared to pay for it, all from – often blurred – photographs. The first couple of bits I bid on went for way over what I was prepared to pay, so I lost them. The same thing happened on a full hive I was bidding on, that went for quite a lot too. I think one problem is that there isn’t that much available and when it appears, a lot of people – and most with more disposable income than me – are after it.
Still, I did finally bid on two hives and upped my bid in the last five minutes to get the lot. I was happy with the price and it meant I would have at least one extra hive of decent quality (I hoped) with a few spare bits too. As the following day was Good Friday and I was off, we decided to jump in the car to collect them and make a day of it. Unfortunately, the weather was still cold and very windy so the plan of a nice walk on the hills was scuppered.
The hives were down in Birchover, not far from Matlock. We allowed two hours for the journey and made it with a minute to spare. We were not helped by the slowly snaking line of traffic along the A6 through Stockport, Bramhall, New Mills and along, nor by the closure of the road after Buxton, which led to a detour and a heated discussion about maps and their reading. But we got there in one piece, eventually. Birchover is a small village with two pubs and a shop. A few stone-built houses lined the narrow, car-filled, main street. The guy I bought the hives from was only young and had changed type of hive because the new ones have a bigger brood body and this helps to over-winter bees, giving them more room to build up in the summer. This meant he was selling his old hives, which he had bought from someone else, and I was to benefit.
The new hive, assembled and waiting for bees
After this, with the car full, we decided to head into Bakewell and have a look around. It was very busy but not as busy as it could have been, had the weather been better. We went to a ‘craft fair’ and were talked into a bar of soap which the woman said could be used as air freshener as the aroma was so pungent. This is nonsense. It doesn’t smell unless you stick it almost up a nostril and I’m glad we didn’t listen to her claims about the other crappy products she had on sale. We dodged into the old scout hut to avoid some hail, and the remainder of our trip to Bakewell was spent popping into shops to get out of the rain. Not something we normally do, but nice to do now and again.
This week, the MEN reported that at least half a dozen people have had to be rescued off Kinder Scout because they lost their way, going up without maps or good boots. Maybe next time we venture out to the Peak District it’ll be fit for walking. For now we finished off in traditional style. Before leaving, to plod back up the A6, we bought a Bakewell pudding. Half got eaten in the car, half when we got back. Very tasty.
So how did we prepare? The week before we visited the Polish shop on Derby Street in Bolton and stocked up on white sausage and ham and then I popped around the corner from work to the Polish shop in Manchester to get more white sausage in case that wasn’t enough. I like the shop near work, it’s one where the girl doesn’t – or claims she doesn’t – speak English, so I am forced to remember words and practice what I know. She asked me on this visit if I wanted some cake but as Agnieszka had plans I had to say no. Who, in their right mind, would buy a dry and crappy shop-bought cake when they have a wife who makes succulent, tasty, moorish cakes at home? Not me. 
As part of the table decoration, Agnieszka crocheted some little chickens that looked very cute but didn’t understand they were supposed to sit on the eggs, they insisted on slipping off. The table was full on Easter Sunday: ham, sausage, boiled eggs, cheese, tomatoes, gherkins, onions and I baked some rolls so that we would have fresh bread. A bunch of daffodils added some further colour. My mum and dad were invited and arrived with their own chairs as we only have two. It was a lovely meal and made me look forward to a year that should be full of joy and, hopefully, less trials than the last one.
The cake was a roulade-type, made with honey and spread inside with yoghurt before being rolled and covered in chocolate. It was – because it didn’t last very long – one of the most succulent and tasty cakes I have ever eaten. Even so, it still comes second to my favourite – the apple cake. We haven't had one of those for a while... hint hint.
Has now been transformed, as if by magic (by only the application of some 'wonder paint'), into something straight off a Greek island.
I hope to use this tactic in the future when we come to sell the house and by clever camera-work and lighting, turn our modest two bed terrace into a glitzy four bed mansion. At three times the market value of course. Cynical? Me?
Since then I’ve started to put it together and it looks ok, even if I do say so myself. The front room smells lovely, though, as the wood gives off a slight aroma which you catch every so often when you walk past.
