I think it’s true that smell is the strongest trigger of nostalgia. Just cut grass and a hint of petrol reminds me far more of my father than a photo ever could.
I sit back down to do the crossword in G2. I’ve been stuck on six down all morning. Eight letters, starting with M: The quality of being in accord with standards of right or good conduct.
He said he was a poet and I believed him, fool that I am. All that talk about the gentle coiling of hair around hair was just talk. Just words made up.