Stung, or ... persona non grata
That way I might be able to find the onions we haven't lifted yet.
As I went to put some scarlet pimpernel into my bucket for the compost heap, I felt a strange sensation.
I had been stung by a bee on the underside of my right little finger.
I wasn't wanted there, was I?
Tonight I closed the Art Room just after nine.
Cycling home I stopped off at the public library to catch the last few minutes of our reading group meeting.
I knocked on the door a few times, but got no response.
I could see everyone in the adjacent room.
They couldn't see me on the top of the steps, so I went down below the window, and shone my red and white cycle lights into the lighted room.
Several people got up, and waved to me.
I went back to the door and waited, no response.
I tried knocking again, and guess what, no response.
I even tried shouting, and yes you've guessed it, no response!!
By this time the meeting should have finished, so I waited at the door.
They were surprised to see me, although I had e-mailed ahead to say that I'd catch the last few minutes.
They thought that I was just some kids making a nuisance.
What does this say to me?
I suspect I should have just cycled home and had my snack.
It might have been less frustrating.