The humans went to Manchester and came back with a field report for the household's entomology division — two senior researchers who take bugs very seriously and have never once caught one.

The finding, in brief: there is a city where the bug won. Manchester took the worker bee as its symbol back in its industrial days — seven bees in the hive of the city's coat of arms — and never let go. The bee is on the bins. The bee is on the bollards. The bee is on the planters, the lamp posts, and a fair number of the people.

A large sculpture of a bee painted in bright geometric patchwork, standing in a landscaped city garden
Municipal wildlife, considerably larger than the observers.
A black planter and litter bin stamped with golden worker-bee emblems on a paved city square, pigeons in the background
Even the bins wear bees. The pigeons pretend not to be impressed.

The queen of Sackville Gardens

The best one stands in Sackville Gardens, where the city keeps its memorial to Alan Turing. The garden's bee wears his portrait on its head and a honeycomb of community names across its body — a monument wearing a monument. The division was shown this photograph twice and remained calm, which we are taking as approval.

A bee sculpture in Sackville Gardens with Alan Turing's portrait on its head and a honeycomb of community names painted on its body
The Sackville Gardens bee, wearing Alan Turing.
A whitewashed pub covered in large painted bumblebees, with hanging flower baskets and a rainbow flag
A pub in mid-swarm. Nobody inside seemed concerned.

The control group

And then, in the flowers, the real thing — fat, unbothered, entirely uninterested in civic symbolism. The report concludes the way every bug report in this house concludes: highly rated, closely watched, and completely safe from the research staff. Nothing is ever caught. Nothing is ever going to be caught.

Two bumblebees working the purple flowers of a tall spike, photographed close up
The genuine article, filing no paperwork.