It’s the morning of the national honey competition, and there’s an air of quiet industry in a sunlit corner of the Sydney Showground arts and crafts pavilion.
As one of 14 honey judges, I’ve been in a state of anticipation for months and have arrived for duty in peak sensory evaluation mode. I haven’t used any strong-smelling lotions or perfume, and, by all rights, I should wipe off my lipstick. I don’t wear bee-shaped earrings or cufflinks but others do, and every year the chief judge, Bruce White, wears a bee-themed tie. Today, it’s a bright blue honeycomb number.
