They’ve been with me for almost 2 weeks now, or perhaps it would be more truthful to switch that to “I have been with them”.

Worse than babies or a new pet, bees make time stand still.

The nature of my work requires me to sit hunched over a desk, resulting in the need to uncoil, straighten out and ultimately stand up. I’ll slide the kettle over, maybe slip outside and sniff the air. Now the bees are here I find my hand reaching out to my bee suit and my feet, on their own track of logic, heading off down to the bottom of the field.

I was told that as I approach the hive I need to talk to the bees, familiarise them with my voice. My first visits were I suspect equivalent to Joanna Lumley on helium, soundbites of excited, squeaky plumminess interwoven with self-conscious babblings. After two weeks my tone has dropped back down to my normal ‘posh’ drone.. perhaps slightly more appealing for the bees. After all, who really wants to be spoken ‘at’ by a wild eyed and caffeinated gibbering human.

As I head towards the back of the hive rather than trying to calm them down I find that I am the one who’s breathing more slowly. At about 20 ft, the uncomfortable tug of the bee suit is forgotten, at 10 ft the council tax bill can wait, 6 ft and a rude silence from a client is of no consequence.. and by the time I place my hand on the side of the cedar frame I am wholly ‘there’ and nowhere else. And breathe.

Walking around to the side, hand still on hive, still talking, I find myself crouching down, eyes level with the hive entrance.. many little open doors created by a sliding bar of machined wood. The bustling activity of these little creatures, wholly engrossed in their purpose..such a counterpoint to the calmness thats slowly enveloping me.

Today, it’s time to check right inside the brood chamber. This is about as intimate as it gets. Removing first the peaked roof and then the cover board, an extraordinary wave of perfume rushes at me. It’s pollen, nectar, honey, propolis. It’s bee.

Using the parrot beak hookend of my hive tool I gently ease it in amongst the fizzing little bodies and lever the edge of the frame into a position where I can slowly work my finger between bee and box and, wedging it beneath the edge I slowly lift one end of the frame up. It feels a fairly destructive move: in their constant effort to fill any and all gaps, the bees have welded these vertical rooms together with their cement like propolis. I work on the other end gently nudging little legs, abdomens and faces out the way and at last I have both ends securely in forefinger and thumb of each hand. Letting out my breath, whispering, apologising, I slowly lift what must be 2 lbs of frame. It’s carpeted in bees, a complete and perfect study of a superorganism at work… and there’s honey…