The Matter of Breath.

Tonight I watched an episode of the BBC dark comedy series Inside Number 9. It was the one in which guests at a dinner party are playing ‘sardines’ – one person hides and the others have to find him/her, and then stay there gathering together until they’re all squashed into a confined space. In this case, it was a double wardrobe in one of the bedrooms.

I found it disturbing because it reminded me that in such a situation the people would be so close that they would be able to smell each other’s breath, and that’s something I’ve always found odious even if the breath has been sweet. I feel the same way if I watch a film or drama in which two people are talking to one another close up and face to face.

I’ve examined this strange aspect of my nature and can only put it down to the fact that when you smell somebody else’s breath, it means you’re taking into your body something that has just come out of somebody else’s body. That strikes me as utterly revolting, and probably stems from my lifelong disquiet with all matters corporeal. I wonder where it comes from.