Not only do we get a great taste experience it may encourage the saving of our bees.
Life & Soul Magazine
British honey is a reflection of the magical isle that the bees inhabit – rich, diverse and spectacular with the taste, colour and textures varying widely, from dark brown to almost white, from spicy to nutty and fruity, and from runny smooth to set with a granular bite. Honouring the colourful and epic journey of the bees, and capturing their essence in their most natural state is Emily Abbott, London beekeeper and founder of Hive & Keeper.
Hive & Keeper pays homage to the diversity of British honey by offering consumers limited-edition British raw honeys from small-scale beekeepers. Each honey is taken straight from the hive, left as the bees made it and in its purest state. Each jar of honey provides a snapshot in time of the bees, landscape and weather.
What started as a hobby for the south London born-and-raised Emily Abbott has now turned into a business. “I started beekeeping…
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The best English poems about nature Nature is one of the great themes of poetry, and also provides poets with a storehouse of vivid and useful images. Below, we’ve chosen ten of the very best nature poems in English literature. Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey, ‘The Soote Season’. This is one of the first sonnets […]
via 10 of the Best Nature Poems Everyone Should Read — Interesting Literature
Another slice of nautical life, with free fertiliser thrown, well dropped at least , in.
Chris The Story Reading Ape's Blog
My narrowboat, moored up on one of England’s sleepy canals. What better place to dedicate myself to my craft? Peace and tranquillity, a total absence of intrusive cares, woes and worries, eh?
So, there I was, tapping away at my laptop working on the my magnum opus, and suddenly there’s a fully-grown sheep licking the boat’s windows. It’s a distraction and no mistake. One moment I had my two favourite popular scientist types soaked and running for cover across a wild and lonely moorland (right into trouble, where I want them), and the next moment I’m staring down a woolly ruminant’s throat, peering deeper and wondering if sheep have tonsils.
I am not unfamiliar with sheep, m’lud, my sister and I had a couple of pet lambs (orphans) during that part of our childhoods spent on the Isle of Lewis in the Outer Hebrides. One of them, “Whisky”, died young…
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I blinked and almost misssed this, looks interesting
Booking is now open for the 2018 Flash Fiction Festival UK funded by Bath Flash FictionAward, taking place at Trinity College, Stoke Hill, Bristol, Friday evening 20th July – Sunday late afternoon, 22nd July this year, 2018.
We’ve a great line of up workshops, talks, readings and book launches, by leading flash fiction writers and tutors from the UK, the US, Ireland and Germany as well as open-mic sessions for all participants.
There’s an informal picnic and open-mic on Friday night in the extensive grounds where you can meet and mingle with fellow flash fiction fans. We’ve a raffle with great prizes including a week’s writing retreat in Italy, a festival long mini competition with prizes, a bar, a book shop and the opportunity to submit fictions you begin at the festival workshops to Flash Fiction Festival Anthology Two which will be published in 2018. All contributors…
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Sage advice for students of the art such as I
A Writer's Path
by Ryan Lanz
Dumping is rarely appreciated anywhere, and inside your novel is no different.
When I started writing, I can remember feeling the urge to clue the reader in on every tidbit of information on a character/setting, including the culture, people, landscape, type of plants that grow there, every holiday, flavors of tea consumed, what type of bear is best (a Jim Halpert reference), etc.
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Now is the winter of our discount tent made glorious summer by this sun of York… or some such rubbish. It is certainly not summer yet, but spring sprang today and, having sprung, will doubtless move on: nor all thy piety nor wit shall lure it back to cancel half a line, nor all thy…
via Horses, insane boat traffic, and venturing forth without a jacket… #narrowboat #england #springtime — The Diesel-Electric Elephant Company, England.
The words blurred into one another, every yellowed page like the one before. I knew that before long, the library would be closing, and a polite steward would come to visit me at my desk. I couldn’t afford to stop my search now. Tonight was the night of the Supermoon. If I were unable to find the words there would be a great calamity in the district and all my searching would have been in vain. I was almost there, of this I was certain. Rapidly flicking through the pages to page 298 I noticed a scribble in the margin. Was this the incantation I had been seeking? Sadly I would not be able to find out as without warning the lights were extinguished and alarms started to sound throughout the previously almost silent hall.
A highly charged voice came out of the speakers in firm but polite tones, “Ladies and gentlemen, the management apologise for this interruption but we would kindly ask everyone to make their way to the fire exits, there is no cause for panic.”
This was my chance. Picking up the heavy tome, I tucked it under my arm and attempting to suppress my feeling of guilt, concealed it under my cloak. Making my way to the nearest exit I gave my name to the attendant that he may strike it from his list of subscribers, in assurance of my safety, and set off down the road in order that I might continue my researches before the night’s trials that I would have to face if I was to rid the world of this ancient evil for this lunar period at least.
Nobody ever questioned or dared to ignore the crudely painted sign, pinned to the tree.
No-one that is, who knew the reputation accorded the family known as the “Doones,” who lived somewhere in the woods but no-one could or would say exactly where.
Nobody living that is. 268 c.
A sneak in the night
his nose and whiskers twitching