Why is it that we only have the desire to cough when everything is *ssshhh* oh-so quiet?
I was thinking about smells last night on the bus. Or was it this morning? Ack, who cares. So anyway, I was thinking about smells. This came about because I was sitting next to a man at the bus station [ah, it was last night] who was smoking a stinky cigar. It’s quite a nice stink. Then someone else was smoking a cigarette and it was also stinky. Again, it was quite a nice stink – I’m not one of those ex- [eighteen months!] smokers who gabbles on about how disgusting it is. I’ll actually breathe the smell in and savour it. I have no choice in the matter usually because we let the students at work smoke at break and lunch times, and if one is on duty outside they will do the oh-so funny thing of blowing it in your face.
Last night it just brought back memories, moments that had been forgotten and live in some lonely corner of my cluttered mind just waiting to be fondly remembered. I have a fondness for smells …
Any type of smoke will remind me of my Uncle Brian. It will take me back to my childhood and the days following the departure of The Father when Uncle Brian [TF’s older half-brother] would come round and hang his coat on the stair bannister, and I would stand there and soak up the smell of the pipes [or was it just cigarettes?] he smoked. He would hide tubes of Smarties in his pockets and send us into the hall to delve deeply and find them. It was only years later that Mumsy told me he was probably trying to get into her pants.
Brewery smells remind me of my Uncle Brian too. He used to live in Gip near the smelly Maltings and I still can’t stand that smell to this day.
The smell of dope makes me think of vomit [and Bacardi, long story]. And the smell of vomit makes me remember all those times when I was little and refused to open my mouth when I was sick.
Petrol makes me gag, but the smell of summer rain is magical.
Minted peas make me think of my maternal nana, and orange squash brings back the giggles I had with my other nana, the one with the long garden. Martini? My Auntie Terri. New shoes? Getting the sack aged sixteen. Chlorine? Barry, who was SO old. Perfumed sweets? Nancy [the town], in France.
I like the smell of manure and sweaty feet, Chanel [No. 5] and baby talc, vodka and brie, The Blokey and my Tabatha-Cat, new books and packages that arrive in the post.
But more than anything I love the smell of my mum. She smells of warmth and love, protection and security, hope and dreams …
[and i really ought to tell her of my wedding plans]
And right now I can smell yet-to-be-opened chocolate cake …
We have a dilemma. Do we have a Harry weekend [what with going to see HPIV next week], a Batman weekend [so I can drool over Christian and Cillian (but not Michael K)], or a Star Wars weekend [so The Blokey can just drool]? Oh, bugger the people who buy DVDs for birthdays …
please God bless smells xxx Elsabeth