Yesterday, after a delightful Christmas Day with my prospective inlaws, Spud and I made the 300 mile journey to where my family live. Today we travelled even further South to spend the day with my grandparents in Cornwall. They live in a ground floor flat in sheltered accommodation, with their cat Orlando.
We had a wonderful day, eating heaps and learning how to play Canasta. Some of us ventured into the neglected games room for a game of table tennis, but soon discovered why it was so seldom used when two of the residents complained about the racket (while we weren't as quiet as mice, we could have been louder had we wanted to).
As we were leaving, and stepped reluctantly out into a cold, wet evening, I caught a breath of Cornish air and, just for a moment, a familiar, distinctive aroma that I can only describe as the smell of Cornwall. It was the first time I identified it, and the scent faded as qucikly as the memories it conjured, although I yearned for them to stay with me.