How should I dispose of the mortal remains of the bee?
Actually, this is the right way to dispose of a dead bee:
You can leave a personal tribute to the bee here:
Also over the weekend, Richard Herring finally blogged his Oxford gig, meaning I can talk about it. Turned out my guess at 15 minutes for the yoghurt joke was a 5 minute underestimation! I thought he peaked on the joke about lying down on the beach in an attempt to get anonymous sex from confused turtles, but the yoghurt was good, too; captured well the irrational sheer blazing outrage of being judged by random strangers. Mark was beginning to look a bit fidgety before it was over, mind. Being Oxford, the comedians were keen to show off and use long words, which I like; Richard Ince (on first) had clever material and a nice jumper -- he was a bit disappointed at the response to his joke for physicists, but it was about Schroedinger's Cat, which is sort of the physicist's "Why did the chicken cross the road ..."
Also, I had a nasty reminder of why I don't like seeing comedy. It has this horrible effect on my conversation, turing it fast, brittle and performative; it grabs the delivery method of comedy, turning conversation into double act, anecdote into routine, like some sort of horrible orally-transmitted communicable disease. I had to go home and read Emily Dickinson until it died down.
Oh god. I've still got it.