We walk along the various paths surveying the decay of the vegetation. Piles of leaves are scattered everywhere. In the wetter parts of the woodland, wild spearmint grows. I pinch a flower atop half a stalk, first crushing the surrounding leaves, then the flower itself. It strikes me how much more potent the scent is from the flower. Fresh mint evokes a sense of cleanliness, uplifting while imparting a soft cool numbness. I vow to create a dish where the mint flower is the star, but today we are here for work. There is a new hive in the back of the car, full of rather relaxed bees. The constant bouncing of the car on the journey over would usually infuriate other strains, and by now they would be ready to kill, but today we are lucky. We install the beehive, and feed every hive present so that the other stronger colonies will not steal the newer, less established hive’s food and try to kill them. The sun is setting and the air temperature is dropping so we head back. In tribute to the day’s success a steak and onion sandwich with Manx wetland honey and Canadian cheddar is the only way to go… Served up in giant fresh white baps with the caramel lick of slow fried shallots. When eating the mind wanders to whether those bees found the clump of spearmint nearby, and whether it is emaprting any flavour compounds into what I’m eating. I also wish I’d taken a fucking picture of the mint.