Getting there

This time a frangipani flower right at the start of its opening - so young, soft and lush, with a strong, sweet fragrance, but also (counter-intuitively) very hairy! Who knew? Lady Guinevere meets King Kong.
I've rabbited on before about the wide range of colours that the Plumeria's flowers come in, their tropical/sub-tropical origins, etc., etc., and won't repeat ad nauseam. But what I hadn't realised until right about now is that although they smell so strongly and sweetly, the amount of nectar they offer bees or birds is consistently around the zero mark - zilch, nada, nowt, nix, nothing, not a sausage, bugger all.
The flowers of the Native Frangipani - native to that large-ish isle Down Under - are a different kettle of fish, and offer well-worth-your-while dollops of nectar to who/whatever wants it. 
Which helps explain why the girls from the Flow hive in the garden don't go near the plumeria, but when the native frangipanis are in bloom, they pay them considerable attention.
The catch, of course, is that the native flowers are a lot smaller. And it's downhill from there, because their numbers are but a fraction of the plumeria's; and worse, they're in bloom for about half the time (if you're lucky).
So next time one of those native plant enthusiasts from your local Botanic Gardens starts singing the praises of the native over the exotic variety...be sure to have a pinch of salt handy.