A WAFT OF MEMORY

Y'know, you can be in two places at the one time.

This morning, a crisp glaring April morning which promised more heat than it gave, I went for a brisk walk around the Common beside us here in South London. All part of the new healthier, more movement regime I’ve started (only the third day so don’t get too excited).

I was moving sharply with only the occasional halt to snap some cherry trees, heavy with white blossom (like you do) when, whoosh, suddenly I was 10 years old, back in Dublin and walking up Killiney Hill with my sisters and brothers. Mum and Dad (with an infant or toddler in tow) would straggle behind their boisterous brood as we'd swarm through the pine woods, kicking up the soft pine-needled ground, tripping over roots, getting scratched with dead broken branches before tumbling up the well-worn path to the Obelisk.

It was smell you see. I had just passed the Sports Clubhouse on the Common when I was hit hard by a waft. Gorse bushes, loads of them, had begun to exude their perfume in the weak April sun.

So there I was, back with everyone, squabbling and trying not to get the Sunday dress dirty or sandals too scuffed as we raced up the rough path. Short legs, deep steps. As you’d head up towards the top and its view over Killiney Bay, the path was lined with thick prickly gorse and at various times of the year the honeyed, Malibu-coconut smell was like a syrupy mist. Glorious. All I ever need now is just the slightest gorse whiff and I’m back there, “up the Burma” as we say (Burma Road leads to Killiney Hill).

So you see, not only can you be in two places at one time, you can be in two times at one place.

Where does smell take you?