Friday, May 19, 2006

The sweet, sweet, smell of...

It’s guava season. I went into the supermarket last night, and the smell of guavas hit me like cheap perfume. It’s a sweet, high stink, redolent of a glass of Sunny Delight that’s been left out in the sun too long. Cloying. Sickly. It hits you in the back of your nasal cavity, and dribbles down the back of your throat, distributing headache spores along the way.

It’s funny, because when I lived in Malaysia, I grew to love the smell of durians, and they smell like foul drains – so bad that people are banned from bringing them into posh hotels and offices. Even now when I catch the scent of a durian, it's as if I’ve been whirled through time and if I close my eyes, I can imagine that I’m standing in the market, jostled and pushed, amid the shouts and the hustle; intense nostalgia in a spiky green package.

Anyway I managed to get the smell out of my nostrils before I got home. On arrival at my front door, a puff of putrescent Eau de Guava greeted me from a carrier bag hung from my gate. It’s the second time Mr and Mrs Uncle Janni have donated a crop from the tree in the garden. I haven’t the heart to tell them that I loathe guavas, and that the stench of them in my house makes me feel physically sick. I put them in the cupboard under the sink. Tonight I will give them to David, the security guard next door.

I drifted off to sleep to the sound of Boris vomiting enthusiastically outside my back door.

I knew just how he felt.
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