Other Places’ Summers Smell of Roses

‘Ah, it smells just perfect out here,’ Babymother said, stepping out yesterday morning. ‘Dampness and bracken and woodsmoke.’ Well, what can I say, she’s from London where summers smell of traffic fumes and fried food and anxiety. And at least she missed the holy trinity of rural scents I got on the ride out for the paper today: poorly dried waterproofs, slurry and something very very dead in a hedgerow somewhere.

That said, the huge bronze fennel currently dominating the front door has started flowering so now when we step outside it’s like standing beside a giant liquorice allsort. On balance, I think we win.


7 Responses to Other Places’ Summers Smell of Roses

  1. John Gibson says:

    huge bronze fennel.
    What is it and can we please have a pic.

  2. 2whls3spds says:

    Country smells trump city smells everyday of the year!


  3. disgruntled says:

    John – ah, will do.
    2whls3spds – welcome back! I’m not 100% sure about those country smells though – have you smelled slurry?

  4. babymother says:

    I must try to visit you sometime other than August, because I’m left with this perfect rural idyll impression which can’t be the whole truth (I suppose there was the thunderstorm-while-cycling scenario). Got a whiff of slurry on the way home – ahh, breathe deeply, wish I could bottle it for back home…

  5. disgruntled says:

    Try February. Bring thermals…

  6. babymother says:

    Or maybe I’ll just stay with the rural idyll impression…

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