Science
boffins have spent years trying to work out why the most evocative of all the
senses is smell. And if you’re looking for an answer here you’ve come to the
wrong place. But I was reminded of just how strongly scent and memories are
linked yesterday when I was meandering down the washing powder aisle of Tesco, behind
an old man who was wearing beige slacks and a Marks and Spencer sports jacket, and
was suddenly overwhelmed by passion and feelings of hormonal angst. Not because
I have a thing for old men in M&S jackets, or washing powder for that
matter, but because the elderly gent (and source of my racing heart) was
wearing the aftershave of a boy I went out with as a teenager. On reflection, that
either says that the boyfriend had a questionable taste in aftershave, or that
the old dude had a young spirit. Judging by the slacks, I suspect it’s the former
of the two. However, I was positively consumed by how strongly all those
feelings of pubescent angst, desperate insecurity and awkward fumbly snogging
sessions came back to me in a split second. It was almost like I was right back
there, and it’s not often that I truly remember things so clearly. It’s easy to
remember how things looked, sounded or tasted, but very difficult to remember
feelings as time passes and memories get diluted by time.
Smell has a
wonderful, almost magical capacity to transport us to another time and place.
The smell of stale alcohol always takes me back to working in a bar, the smell
wasn’t just in the bar but it would permeate my skin and follow me home. And
whenever I smell that smell I am reminded not just of where I was and who with,
but of how I felt; happy, excited and part of something really cool, then
arriving home, swaying slightly, eating a massive boccadillo and trying to sleep when it was broad daylight.
Smells can
invoke joy and comfort, or can jar you back to a time and place you would
rather forget. There have been many studies done on how childhood memories are
anchored in smell and even in my limited experience I can understand why.
Thankfully, most of my smell memories are pleasant ones. Mum (who now lives at
my Nana D’s house) gave Son One a sleeping bag, and even after washing it, it
still smells of her house, to the extent that Son One said “I love my sleeping
bag, it smells like Nana”. It’s Max Factor make up and old school lemon
bathroom cleaner, the smell of my Nana D and now my mum, is a very comforting
one and when I smell it, I drink it in and revel in its soothing effect. Mum’s
perfume (Alliage) always reminds me of the excitement of staying up late with
my grandparents because she would save it “for best” and only wear it when she
was going out with my dad. And the smell of Dad just home from work; fags, day
old polycotton shirts, those old blazers (that looked like they were made out
of Shreddies and had leather elbow patches) and car interior reminds me of
feeling small and safe in his arms.
But of all
the most wonderful, most comforting and beautiful smells there is, there is one
that completely overtakes all others. And that is the sweet, damp smell of my
sleeping sons. They say boys smell (and they would be right), boys are gross
but, to me, my boys smell delicious (even though they are gross). And I hope
that that smell stays with me forever.
Looking at
a picture can remind you of a place you’ve been before, hearing a song you’ve
listened to with someone, touching or tasting something, all have the power to
invoke memories. But scent somehow has an almost apocalyptic strength,
eradicating everything you are doing at that moment and taking your entire
being back to where it was when you first experienced it.
Slowing to
a stop behind the elderly gent pondering the distinctions between Persil and Ariel
(you can ponder all you like Sir, you will never work it out), the initial
feelings of passion began to subside and were replaced by the bone crushing
heartache caused by the original object of my desire. And with that I narrowly avoided
asking the old dude his name so I could rush home and write it on my pencil
case.
A totally unrelated note…
Happy birthday to Son One, six today! Love you
little man xxxx
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