There is little in life so evocative as a smell.
They manufacture perfumes that frankly leave me cold. I have a reaction to most and one whiff stings my nose and can even make my eyes run. Not that I would ever demand that scents be banned as I practice a thing called tolerance, and if a smell offends me or affects me, I move away. I wish others could take a leaf out if that?
My favourite smells are the simple ones – wild honeysuckle, gorse in bloom and of course the heady scent of freshly mown grass.
One smell that I love is becoming very rare these days and that is the sweet scent of a bonfire. One of the pleasures of Summer and Autumn was the regular burning of leaves and other garden detritus. Nations like Merca and China pump out vast volumes of coal smoke [and fair play to ’em], but in their infinite wisdom, the Nannies decided to ban the humble bonfire. A good garden fire produces a bit of smoke I grant, but it is a gazillionth the amount put out by a single power station, yet somehow this humble conflagration is supposed to destroy the atmosphere by warming it through dozens of degrees and by pumping out a picogram of Dioxin.
Over the last couple of days I have been doing some more destruction in the garden. This naturally produced a small mountain of stuff that I piled up in the back field.
Now the Nannies tell me I can't burn this. I have to dispose of it in some other way. What way? Am I supposed to hire a tree-muncher to convert it all into pulp? Can't afford that, and anyway I would have to do the hiring several times a year. Am I supposed to hire a skip? Can't afford that either and again it would have to be an industrial sized monster several times a year. And anyway I would presume that would just go into landfill, that they scream doesn't exist any more.
So what am I supposed to do with it?
I did what I always do – the only logical, sane thing.
I threw a match into the mountain.
The scent in the air is beautiful. The whole house has filled with it as I left the windows open. I reek of burning wood as my clothes are saturated. Fabulous!
And remarkably, the sky hasn't fallen on my head. The temperature today is much the same as yesterday. The Ozone Layer hasn't vanished. Seal levels haven't risen an iota. The ice cps haven't melted. No animals were destroyed in the making of my bonfire. The World still rotates upon its axis.
Those fucking Nannies can kiss my arse.