MY KIDS FIND KATE BUSH AS BIG BEES GIVE ME THE FEAR

My whole hecking world has gone doolally. Is it the weather? Have we hit summer and lost the plot completely?

It’s lovely to have hot weather when you’re abroad, but here? Where day-to-day

life has demands other than a cocktail by the pool? No thanks. There’s a reason we live in Scotland and the giant ball of fire visiting occasionally isn’t it.

You only have to meet me once to appreciate I’m a small but wide load and

my staple wardrobe consists of dark, layered clothing

(mainly because Trinny and Susannah once implied it might be slimming. It’s not).

This doesn’t easily transfer to summer attire. And don’t even try to suggest I look out the lighter, summer gear destined for far-away climes where I’m likely never to meet anyone I know and the shame of having translucent legs can be addressed by a

sangria. The kids do love to remind me of that time we bumped into a family from our village at Perth Zoo. The antipodean one, not the one down the road.

Our garden, for example, has reached jungle status, and I’m constantly amazed not to find David Attenborough out there describing a new species he’s discovered. Our enthusiasm for “No Mow May” was taken a step too far and continued into June.

We now have weeds sizing up for a square go with

mature shrubs planted over 20 years ago. Not tackling the garden for the sake of the bees might explain the freaking size of them this year. I was sitting on

my bed when I heard one bouncing off the INSIDE of the window.

Having literally just moisturised my feet, in a vain attempt to not look like a troll in sandals, I implored the mister to hurl himself upstairs to save me.

Had the bee stood at the bedroom door in a black bomber jacket demanding to see his ID before he was

allowed in, it wouldn’t have shocked me. It was the size of a Citroen Picasso and was bouncing itself off the window with the force of one driving at 50 miles an hour.

I can clearly see the garden from my napping spot on the couch. When I’m this tired, I love flinging open the

doors and snoozing to the soundtrack provided by the outdoors.

Thank goodness my big brave eejit dogs keep me safe by barking at the vicious postie delivering bills, the leaves that dare to drop off the tree on to the grass OR

the wee wifey in the garden next door hanging up her washing. Where would I be without them to keep me safe

and prevent me from falling into a deep restorative sleep.

If I ever go missing just tell my dogs I’m relaxing. They’ll find me and create a riot, they always do.

I awoke from one of my recent medicinal naps, unsure what year it was. I could clearly hear Kate Bush

telling me to “keep running up that hill”. It took me a moment to shake it off. I am, you see, old enough to remember her telling me to do it the first time.

And, although I was a LOT younger then, I still recall not having the desire to fling myself forward up the nearest incline just because Ms Bush told me to. But wait, it’s still 2022 and I haven’t travelled back in time to my formative years.

The Duffer Brothers have instead brought Kate bang up to date and catapulted her

to her first Number 1 here in the UK since her 1978 hit with Wuthering Heights. And I LOVE that Cher tweeted a message congratulating her.

If you’re unsure why, then, like me, you probably haven’t watched Stranger Things on Netflix.

You technically don’t need to if you, again like me, have teenagers who will fill you in on the plot, characters and soundtrack. In great detail and with great enthusiasm.

Have you heard of Kate Bush, Mum? She’s about the same age as you, isn’t she? Do you know her?

Aye, me and her pal Cher used to go out a lot. I’ll tell them you all approve of their

“tunes”.

Kate Bush is top of the charts thanks to Stranger Things.