Nothing (much) To Report

It never fails to amaze me just how much smells can "take you back". Much more so than pictures or video or any of the other senses.

What makes it all the worse for me, is that Davidoff is actually quite a popular aftershave for chaps and it's not uncommon to get a whiff of it whilst doing something so unremarkable as going round the supermarket. When this happens, it's almost an involuntary action to seek out the perpetrator, just to sniff them slightly. That sounds worse than it actually is - I'm very good at subtly sniffing people. No. That's probably not true, a vision of a mid-to-late 20-something with a trolley full of cat food chasing someone around the supermarket to "subtly" smell them is quite a scary one. Note to self: stop doing that.

Anyway, the person I hold wholly responsible for this Davidoff curse is this man. His name was Zbyszek (and most likely still is) and to this day I wonder what it was exactly about the man that made me fall so head-over-heels for the guy. My only theory was that he must have rolled in cocaine just before we used to meet up (well *I* can't think of a more likely scenario, can you? eh?) It was just such a perfect time - the kind of not eat and not sleep whirl-wind romance that puts an almost permanent grin on your face, even if you work (as I did back then) in Local Government. When he went back to his home country of Poland (this was before they were in the EU) it was like going cold turkey and when I went out there, the airport scene was like something out of a film. Dammit! It's no wonder that no-one has even come close to living up to him in the last 5 years. Shite - 5 years, has it been that long?

Well, I hear you asking - why didn't this have a happy ending? I've been asking myself the same question. Of course, I've consoled myself with the usual platitudes like "it would never have worked" and "he wasn't right" which the logical parts of my brain do acknowledge from time to time. He was *very* catholic, you see and I just wasn't. When discussing the wedding plans (yes, *sob*) one day he just mentioned in passing "when we get married, you'll have to convert you know". Errrr, no!

And there you have it. Even though it all ended so badly, my brain stubbornly files the Davidoff scent under "very happy memories" and there it will stay. Perhaps the answer is to find a complete bastard who wears the stuff and make them hit me over the head or something? It'd be like the stuff they do for people scared of spiders, only in reverse. Aha! make spiders smell of Davidoff…that might just work you know.