Some smells that have a special meaning for you?

Coffee.

Although I don’t drink it anymore, because of the havoc it wreaks on my nervous system, the smell still holds associations.

Whenever I could I would ditch school and walk through the streets, taking it all in, with music streaming from my walkman, pounding in my ears, resuscitating me, bringing me back from the slow death I had been suffering inside the stuffy classroom that numbed my senses and killed my will to live. Life was out there. I would cross the park and make my way to my favourite café.

My favourite café was an old-fashioned place, vast inside, green upholstery, chandeliers, the other customers being mostly old ladies. But it was spacious and quiet and the closest to an office I've ever had. (Even closer than the office I would later in life actually rent.)And most importantly, it didn't have many walls, but huge windows where I could see the world go past. So I would choose a table right next to the windows, and the waitress who would have spotted me coming in would have already go my cappuccino ready and would be heading towards me. She'd be wearing a black skirt with a white apron - I always questioned the need for that kind of uniform but accepted that it inevitably went hand in hand with a place like that. I'd give her a grateful smile and feel happy.

After having spend some time stirring my drink, watching the white swirls of cream dissolve I would start my day's work. Poetry. Letters. Attempts at novels. Or just observations about people I saw around me. Books I greedily devoured. Sweet music streaming through my earphones, weaving its way into the lines I wrote. I loved the rumbling of the coffee machine, the clanking of cups and plates, the voices around me - the illicit sweetness of the chasm between where I was supposed to be and where I chose to be. Somewhere there was a promise of the future, of a time when I would be able to leave the confines of my secret life. A time when I would be in charge of my life at last.

Vanilla.

it reminds me of the summers I used to sleep out on the balcony under the stars. My Mum had planted several flower tubs full of heliotropes, and they gave off a rich vanilla smell that I probably got quite high on. Ah yes, those were the days, just me, my typewriter and my guitar. Oh, and Gypsy, my dog. Every night when he saw me heading outside yet again, he’d sigh a deep, deep sigh, and dutifully trudge along behind me. At around midnight though, he always seemed to think, okay, that’s my duty done, and go back inside to his cosy basket, hoping I wouldn’t need his protection. But I stayed, inhaling the rich vanilla scent, rain or shine, clear starry skies or thunder and crashing lightning.

I said I slept out there, but every moment out there always felt too magical, too precious to waste on sleeping. So I probably didn’t and slept the next morning in school instead. I probably spent more of my time out there playing guitar, writing poetry, listening to Dylan tapes and reading the Beat Poets. Jack Kerouac. “Submissive to everything, open, listening.”

If you had to smell like one thing for the rest of your life, what scent would you pick?

Vanilla. For the reason just mentioned.

 

If you could eat only one kind of food for the rest of your life, what would it be?

Oranges. They've got a very sensual and uplifting colour, the perfect taste, and are very energizing.