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Breathe In

How on earth do you take the Lake District, Yorkshire Dales, Exmoor and turn them into fragrances hoping to evoke the feeling of Britains breathing spaces? Where do you start? Are they created very much like a witches potion; the breath of a newborn lamb, two daffodils, a wisp of a cloud, add to that a splash of water taken from a natural spring on the first day may?

I can’t remember the last time I used an air freshener and thought, you know, this reminds me of Cumbria, oh yes I can, it was never. Most air fresheners made today make me feel physically ill and remind me of that time in Skegness when I stood next to a urinating donkey; overpowering and stench worthy comes to mind. It’s nearly as bad as the naming system for candles; Good Morning, Soft Blanket, Blue Satin Sashes, Hot Buttered Rum all of which are true names which to me evoke a sense of a failed novelist utilising his frustrated creative mind to write a novel. Buy all the candles and put them together in the right order and voila, you have the full story…

Good morning Soft blanket, Take the cake my Hot buttered rum, tis’ Midsummer’s night.

See what I mean, it’s like a bloody Barbara Cartland novel with smells.

Anyway, today’s blog is a bit of a ramble because last week I encounter an embarrassed dog.

I’m not some kind of pervert, let’s just get that straight but occasionally something attracts my attention. In this case it was a gentleman unfurling a large carrier bag. Obviously doing his duty to clean up after his pooch but what puzzled me was how he was going to do it. For the afore said dog had a look of acute embarrassment and was stood awkwardly as he kept switching his view between his deposit and his owner with a look of ‘Sorry dad, I made a bit of a mess didn’t I?’

It really was a mess, I don’t know what they had been feeding Mr Dog but from my glimpse it looked like jelly and peanuts. Mr Owner looked down at his pooch and shook his head, the dog looked down and then directly at me before frowning and turning away in shame. He obviously knew what was coming next as Mr Owner pulled out a cigarette packet from his pocket and made a miniature trowel to scoop up the blamange puddle. I was nearly sick, the dog shuffled uncomfortably to the schlop, schlop noise it made as it hit the bottom of the bag. I’m sure the dog gagged.

I really do see some horrid things, it’s nearly as bad as the dog I saw physically back hard up to a wall before deciding to leave a deposit so as it walked away the end stuck and it started to emerge like a magician pulling out a string of flags from his pocket. I was sick that day too I can tell you.

If you want to experience the fragrance to go with today’s blog buy yourself a pot of bovril and stick a wick in it, light it and place in a bag of freshly rotted manure in the corner of the room. Stand over it and breathe in, ahh, the memories!


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