I pondered deeply what to call this blog. I slept on it for days. One morning I woke myself laughing from a dream in which I’d hit upon the perfect name, one that captured its yearnings perfectly and was the essence of pastoral charm. “Bees for Cheese” said it all. I knew it. It was the one. I had broken through. And then I woke up, snorting.
My brother-in-law said, actually, it was a good name: it caught the relationship between bees and the clover that the cows need to make the milk, so the cheesemakers can make the cheese, and so forth, blah, blah, blah… But this is the man who wanted to name his daughter Ribena and his son Google.
I think we’d all better lay off cheese before bedtime.