So it was just one bee.
And it was in my trousers not my pants (pants in England would be my knickers or as Canadians call them panties). Anyway, enough about underwear.
And sorry, I don't have a photo of this.
And thankfully I was not wearing a thong/g-string that morning or my mother-in-law would have had a fabulous view of my butt-cheeks.
So, what happened was pretty simple. I was heading towards the house after giving my hard-working mother-in-law (chopping rogue blackberries down) a nice cup of tea.
Buzz. Buzz buzz. In my pants. At my knee and heading north.
PANIC! I strip off my pants – in the vegetable patch. I turn the pant leg inside out and THOROUGHLY check for bees. Or wasps. Anyhow it was gone. Phew.
Head towards the house again.
Buzz. Buzz buzz buzz. PANIC. EVEN MORE!
Strip off again. And found it this time. A big black chap, luckily quite sleepy. How I didn't get stung I don't know.
LESSON: Don't wear flared pants in the garden. And mow the grass before the flowers grow.