There really is a horrible smell round here.
Forgive me, it's nothing personal, please believe me. But yesterday on our fourth trip down to the tip (aka
the Household Waste Amenity Site - please see previous blogs for more background information to the Clearing Out the Garage Project) something unmentionable either spilt or leaked all over the boot of our car leaving a horrible, lingering smell
which no amount of scrubbing could totally clear.
This morning it was no better so, seduced by a TV advert, I paid out £4.99 for a car freshener to be fitted on the air vent.
According to the advert, this was an "easy fit" device which would last me 60 days. I worked this out at a little over 8p a day, a small price to pay if it delivers on its promises. Fitting it, however, was not so easy as I was led to
believe. The instructions simply said to fit it "correctly". As if I was going to fit it incorrectly, just for the hell of it. To assist in this, there were a number of pictures on the instruction card. I am prepared to concede
that these may well have been helpful but they were so incredibly tiny that they were absolutely impossible to see. I could just about make out, however, that some of the tiny pictures had red warning crosses on them, presumably spelling out the
dire consequences of incorrect fitting. To fit, or not to fit, that is my quandary.
What makes it worse is that I have to suffer alone. Mr B has absolutely no sense of smell, as a result
of various operations on his nose. When I say, no sense of smell, I really mean none at all. If he burnt the toast and set the house on fire he'd have no idea anything was wrong until Fireman Sam and the rest of the local fire brigade came bursting
through the door, sirens sounding and hose-pipes at the ready.
I cannot resist telling you the story of our holiday a couple of years ago on the beautiful island of Rhodes. In the company of
some friends we had made at our hotel, we visited lovely Lindos for the day, and (typical tourists, we) were transported to the citadel atop the town by donkeys. Wandering about the ancient ruins, then making our way downhill on foot, left us hot and
breathless so Mr B took charge of the situation, as is his wont. He had, he assured us, seen the perfect place for us to quench our thirst and regain our energy. Without taking no for an answer, he led us to a hillside taverna, waving us
to an empty table while he placed an order at the counter. It was, indeed, a beautiful place and Mr B may well have been surprised that there were not more people sampling its delights.
so the rest of us. The taverna was situated right next door to the donkey enclosure. The smell was almost as bad as the smell in the boot of my car. There sat Mr B supping his freshly squeezed orange juice, on his face the happy smile
of one who has chosen well. I didn't have the heart to disillusion him.