Dear Readers, this post could also be called ‘no good deed goes unpunished’. On Saturday, I noticed that my neighbour’s green wheelie bin was in the middle of the pavement, and I knew that they would be away until mid-week, so I decided to put it away in their front garden. As I dragged it back, I brushed against my buddleia. Suddenly there was not only a sharp pain on the back of my neck, but a very distinct sound of angry buzzing coming from inside my shirt.

Well, this was not a happy situation, but fortunately my shirt was of the oversized variety (much more comfortable in this hot weather) and so, by a process of wriggling and dangling upside down I managed to liberate the angry insect before further harm was done, and lo and behold, a very cross bumblebee fell onto the pavement.

Now, I have only once been stung before, and that was when I accidentally stepped on a bee while wafting barefoot across a lawn as a teenager. And that was excruciatingly painful, whereas this was merely disconcerting. Which got me to thinking about the way that bumblebees sting.

I had always believed that bumblebee stingers were barbed, so if they stung someone  they would die. But actually, it’s honeybees which have a barbed sting – bumblebees can sting multiple times if necessary, so I’m very glad that ‘my’ bee decided to only sting once, probably out of the shock of suddenly being in an enclosed space. I also had such a mild reaction that it now seems clear that I didn’t inherit my mother’s extreme allergy to insect venom – a wasp sting on her neck caused very alarming swelling and pain, and Mum was told that another sting might be enough to kill her. However, I do note that it’s been discovered that different species of bees and wasps can have very different venom, so maybe I shouldn’t be too complacent.

Below is a photo of the bee sting 24 hours after it happened – and before any of you lovely people ask,  I have had the mole checked out and it’s fine.

Venom has evolved lots of times in different members of the animal kingdom, but is largely used for two reasons: for predation (i.e, a snake subduing its prey) or defence (i.e. a bumblebee stinging me on the neck). Defensive venom is usually a much simpler chemical, which causes immediate pain, as opposed to predatory venom which may act instead as a neurotoxin, paralysing an animal so that it can be eaten. Furthermore, one very interesting study has found that venom can even change within a single species, according to how likely the animal is to be predated, and how harsh the environment is. Venom is usually ‘expensive’ for the animal to produce, and so if the animal is less likely to be attacked, we would expect the composition of the venom to change to a ‘cheaper’ variety. This was observed in a study of bumblebees in the Swiss Alps, where the composition of the venom changed as the altitude increased – there are less predators at high altitude, and also life is harder, so the bumblebee uses its metabolic resources for other things, such as keeping warm and being able to fly. It still has venom, but less of it, and the chemical make up of the venom is different.

You can read this fascinating study here.

So, all in all being stung on the neck was an interesting experience, and one that’s raised all sorts of questions for me about the complexity of the natural world, and how varied things are. What a teacher a bee sting can be!