"Honey, oh honey, have you any Manuka honey? The mere scent of marigold and honey is reputed throughout the lands, for once it wafts from the jar and into your nose you are filled with euphoria, brimming with ardour at last. Yet the malevolent bees, with their stingers sharp and serrated, guard the honey and won't let a wayfarers ails be abated. One little tap of their nest and you rile the horde, a teeming buzzing mass that will leave you scarred and sore. Yet do not despair, for I have the answer, I am a cuddly and tenacious bear a beguiling prancer! One who yearns to tip his paws in honey, to bask and meander in the quaint hills where it is eternally sunny. A trick I learnt from my venerable grandfather, he was stern and fierce, the tutor of Padraic Pearse. To acquire your honey and vanquish the bee's, you must wield a flaming contraption in hand, one that splutters and alludes to a warm domain. Then wielding the accoutrement of war in paw, hurl the implement at the nest and soon it will alight, leaving the batch of honey at the mercy of your tender loving fluffy paws that give nary a craven a terrible fright! The bees will be charred, their loathsome stingers smouldering and sedate, and now you can dine on honey, your gluttony sated. When the bees are set upon by the scalding howitzer shower of flame, they will cry out in succour, but none will to avail them and procure aid. For they have abided by malice and are malignance incarnate, they refused to yield their honey, so thus this is their untimely fate."