Getting to work can be a pain unless you work from home and even that has it’s downsides I imagine If someone nicks your milk it’s probably the cat and you can’t leave pithy whiny notes for cats (not that they can’t read it’s just they have no shame). But anyway my Journey to work involves overcrowded trains and a needlessly slow bus journeys it’s not the worst journey though but it does have one particular torture a sweet one curiously. As you come out of the “eastern” exit of Cannon st. station there’s a warm blast of frying bacon. This is a full on drenching blast of smell not a distant whiff of Danepak or that dispersed steamy savoury café smell (both of which are good) this is you head in then pan next to the mushrooms and the popping and squeaking fried eggs aroma all fired through a jet engine. Not just a waft of hot ham but your entire head is enveloped in a hot salty bacon gust. It’s so strong you can also almost imagine the smell of crusty fresh cut bread and brown sauce and the warmth of the meal through the slightly squidgy bread......
And yes having had some muesli or some mornings nowt this makes me intensely hungry. This is all made worse by the fact that the source of this hot hammy blast is unidentifiable, there’s no immediate café or snack bar it must be from the canteen of the office block above. It should of course be banned by law for crimes against drooling commuters.
I now that some people favour the world of Aduki beans and mung bean paste but I’m sure such intense savouriness could even make Gillian Mckeith exude a small drop of salvia and the merest twitch of her shrew like nose. It’s like I say a sweet torture.
It’s opposite of the smell of the working men’s club next to our school bus stop years ago which was near the club extractor fan and was suffused with smell of stale sour beer and fags. Or the strangely grim smell of burning mutton that hangs around McDonalds or the sour stench of vinaigrette (?) that Subway reeks off.
Apart from the “ham’ornado of Gammon st. station”™ there’s the evocative floral waft outside Liberties, the crushed veg smell of the market and the sour chill of Neal’s yard dairy’s shop.
So what’s the best smell where you live? Let’s avoid the top of baby’s heads and the napes of people’s necks and stick to geographical scents shall we?