Welcome, Welcome

And it's not that we haven't seen you peering in the window, wonder if we're open, or if we'd give you the time of day if you stopped in. But then, we're not going to roust ourselves out from behind this lovely counter just to bang on the window for everyone who wonders by. It was the look on your face, see. Half smile, squinting under your arm. You looked like you had time for us, time for each and every one of us to introduce ourselves. Have a seat here, in this booth.

You can see everyone's about here. But that's a bit much for anyone's first time, eh? Let me introduce the pub instead. The Pollen and the Sting, she's a good old place. Been here for years, ever since that first wave of clovers tumbled out of the forest and set themselves up under the sunshine. First it was the bees who met here. They're a social bunch, just like us. Like to have their drinks and their stories, like as not about drinks, right? How to get to that sweet little bloom just over the horizon?

Sweet as this, right? Set it right back on that counter, looks like it was glazed with honey this afternoon. Need another? Yup, as do we all, that first time in a new place. I'm the owner, direct descendant of bees myself. Busy as, know what I mean? Well, literally, too. Somewhere back in the great-old line, my grandma used to tell me about how the fairies would enchant the bees to serve them in their plaited castles of living flowers.

One young lady, she wandered right into the middle of a field in the middle of the day, when it was so hot that the air flickered and the shadows just crawled right under the soles of your feet. She was looking for the perfect bunch of flowers for the table, since her betrothed was coming that night. There she was, standing in a patch of clover, sight blanched by the sun, lungs filled with the condensed breath of the flowers. The fairies must have slipped a circle of blooms on her head and there, in the shade from that circlet, was their palace.

Well, she went in. And not very far in, one of the servants hurrying by happen to catch a whiff of those flowers, hot and sweet from the sun. She thought he had fallen for her, but he had really fallen for the scent of those flowers. She said she'd give them to him if he lead her out. That he did, and disappeared. Grandma said she dropped the flowers and never saw the bee still clinging to them.

Her betrothed found her, flushed and sunburned on the lane and they lived for a number of years after that. That first child, though, he was supposed to be part bee. I dunno. Still, it's a good story. And we've got both the pollen and the sting here, depending on your mood. Enjoy the cup, eh? And don't worry about peering in any more windows. You're in the right place. Watch your head, though. Hexagonal booths can surprise those as aren't used to them. Well, we've had one leave recently. But that, my friend, is a story for next time.