The truth about scent memory
Strong pongs and time travel.
I’m not quite sure how to put this, but the top of the staircase in my flat smells like Grandma. Not Grandma herself, always fragrant, a faint hint of powder from her proffered cheek, or lipstick, or a recently extinguished B&H as we kissed goodbye. It’s her house. Upstairs. The top of her own stairs perhaps. I can only ever smel…




