I write this with the zingy Tea & Sympathy Relief Balm dabbed gloriously around the base of my nostrils (it’s a good visual, I grant you), since a winter cold has hit me hard over the last week and not being able to breathe PLUS having a red, chafed nose from blowing it too many times is a double whammy up with which I will not put. (It’s helped a lot, by the way.)
Back on topic, I have to admit something: despite the fact that Leafology is growing month by month, and I’m ridiculously excited about it all (and grateful!), I had a small waver a couple of days ago. Here’s why:
The other day, I watched an outdoor performance of Romeo and Juliet set in the grounds of Oxford Castle (I don’t believe summer evenings can get more quintessentially English). They say (and by ‘they’ I mean Juliet) that a Rose is a rose by any other name (‘That which we call a rose / By any other word would smell as sweet). It’s true, and there’s no mistaking the rosy purity with which this email is unapologetically drenched. I’ll get straight to it:
There’s a new bottle on the block and I think you’re going to like it.
My friend has the ability to remember every detail of who ate what at which restaurant in which year; whether they liked it, who served us, who rode home in which car, which couple had a fight… I am continually amazed by her (and grateful, since she is the group’s keeper of history in technicolour detail) – it is dazzling!
When it comes to me, well, I’ve dabbled in useful/useless skill sets, but one thing is clear: I’ve always had a super-sensitive nose. Sometimes more of a curse than a blessing, I have fun with it anyway and I am realising now how much this sense of mine has begun to lead my life in new directions.
The sense of smell is deeply, deeply powerful; a host of both memory and small pleasures.
Dating sites are filled with flowery-dreamy ‘like’ lists which start so often with ‘I like how the grass smells after rain’. And clichés abound around wood-fires and salty sea air…