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26 May, 2010

Did the air back home always smell so sweet? It’s overwhelming, like breathing honey. The laburnum and lilac join forces to control the airspace. There are willow motes floating about in the air in a manner normally reserved for cartoons. All around is an urgent rush of small creatures busy surviving. It’s hard to leave.

I live in a town
where you can’t smell a thing
you watch your feet
for cracks in the pavement

Radiohead

Back in Dublin, it smells of not much*; maybe a passing bus exhaust, maybe an unexpected breath of sea air**, but not much. It doesn’t stink, like London, or smell of fishmongers and Purple Nasty, like Loughborough. It doesn’t really have a smell.


* okay, right now my house smells of boiled cabbage and Marmite, but that’s only because of Experimental Cooking. Unsurprisingly, the result was unpleasantly cabbagey and much too Marmitey.

** The Edge occasionally smells like crab sticks. To a Midlander, this is rather disconcerting.

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