Autumn Smells

Autumn is definitely the sexiest season of the year. Rotting leaves, drizzle, bonfires, roasting chestnuts, leather boots and firelighters – these are all smells that conspire to unfurl big passions in me. Particularly firelighters. I have to throw them into the grate at arm’s length when I light the fire each evening so that I don’t suddenly becoming a quivering wretch. They are devilish things. I long for and yet fear the invention of a firelighter incense stick or a room spray entitled ‘eau de petrol’. Indeed, I’m getting all hot under the collar thinking about it. I think that’s why I love old cars so much. The slightly decaying smell of old leather, years of leached out petrol drenching the air and the imagined smell of wooden dashboards easily rival Ernest Beaux’s ‘Cuir de Russie’.

I keep on coming back to the subject of smells and I just can’t help myself.

I can remember my mother's smell when I was very young. It was sweet, powdery and aldehydic and was combined with the harsh, nostril-tinging notes of Elnett hairspray and the soft violet scent of her face powder.

When I was fourteen I had a friend called Teresa, who was very womanly and very attractive to boys. I was a late developer and the local boys were wary of me as I wore crinolines to play table tennis with Teresa at the local sports centre while she wore very becoming short shorts.

Teresa had crushes on lots of boys at the swimming pool. We only ever knew them as ‘bluey’, ‘greeny’ or ‘blacky’ depending on the colour of their trunks. I only liked dead poets and dead composers.

One day Teresa and her family took me to a rugby dance. Teresa had a swarm of strapping rugby players lining up to dance with her while I was sitting next to her granny talking about rationing in the Second World War. Suddenly a grown man appeared in front of me and asked me to dance. Without waiting for a reply he pulled me firmly onto the dance floor and then manouevred me firmly against his body and started to slow dance with me. To my surprise he seemed rather pleased to see me. His face was pressed close to mine and his cheeks were rubbery smooth and scented with the most divine perfume I had ever smelt. I can’t remember how many songs we danced to but I soon found that his tongue seemed to be dancing in my mouth and then shortly afterwards Teresa’s dad was prising him from me and threatening to see him outside if he didn’t leave me alone.

It transpired that he had just come out of prison and I never saw him again. But I was on a mission from that day on to identify that wonderful smell. It took me a long time but I eventually found it. I bought a bottle with several weeks' pocket money and kept it hidden away. A few years ago I smelt it on a stranger and instantly had a vivid image of entwined tongues!