There is no other time of the year that is so completely enveloped in aromas. No wonder our memories are in overdrive
It was the smell of Elnett that did it to me. One moment I was a fiftysomething male. The next, I was a four-year-old boy again. It was just before the start of a live show and I was in the backstage dressing room, staring at myself in the mirror. I concluded my never less than ludicrous hair looked tonight like it had been styled courtesy of me stuffing my wet fingers into a plug socket. Something had to be done. Which was when I spotted the can of Elnett, left behind by a previous performer. I damped down my so-called hairstyle, and went to work setting it in place.
It is wistfulness in three dimensions which, as winter darkness closes in, transports us
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