Philip Burton 09/02/2008 "We'll fumigate my greenhouse first," said Aunty Gale. "Innocent enough," I hear you say. What vexes me in retrospect, and makes her fate so tough is that she did it every day; she fumigated every day, every day, as I've stated except for yesterday: her day-trip to France. She'd assumed the routine fumes were seen-to. Instead, doom bloomed in her so-clean lean-too. She was mixing organo-toxicants when she saw the nest. Peruvian killer bees! They'd stowed away, British Airways, made a paper apiary under the staging in a pile of old Gardening News'. And she couldn't resist rummaging. She had to be tidy. Simple as that. She patiently laid her kneeling-mat; tugged slowly at first, yes, by degrees then yanked the nest out on her knees. Well, a summer dress was no protection so take my kindly-meant direction and never mess with killer-bees. And when you prick-out, in your glass-house, spare a thought for Aunty. Please. Included in the Wendy Webb Books anthology 'Disasters in the Greenhouse', and also appears in the anthology 'Disasters in the Home'(published January 2001).