Still, the bats flew closer than usual this evening and there was a lone moth feeding on some pink flowers in my garden. I’m rather fond of those flowers even though I’m not the biggest fan of pink. I don’t know what they’re called but they smell nice. Smell matters a lot to me, you see. Smell is one of those sensory experiences – like the sound of music – which can send my mood plummeting or soaring depending on whether it’s bad or good.
I bet I said that about the odd girl or two when I was a teenager.
‘Hey, who’s that floozy you’ve been hanging about with?’
‘Dunno, mate; don’t know her name. But she smells nice.’
Only kidding. Never in my life have I ever hung about with a woman whose name I didn’t know. Erm… apart from that strange woman reclining on a huge bed in a room above an Italian restaurant in Soho once. But everybody in the room was weird – except me – and I don’t recall any of them smelling of anything except something resembling bonfires.)
The big news today, however, was that I found exactly the pair of jeans I’ve been seeking for months. They were in a charity shop priced at £9.99. They were brand new – with all the labels still attached – were originally from M&S, and their proper price was £39.50. I also nearly bought a bed head from another charity shop (because I haven’t had a bed head for twenty seven years) but realised it wouldn’t fit in the car.
And that brings me back to a favourite subject. When I was a kid I had a wooden bed head. It smelt so nice that I used to sniff and sniff and sniff it, and then I used to chew it. (Except at Easter and Christmas when I ate chocolate in bed instead.)