A very random one but I’ve had a rare day of doing nothing today and have been watching the recent documentary about the Lockerbie bombing…
They're currently discussing getting victims personal possessions back to their families, and how every item of clothing was washed and ironed before return.
My dad passed when I was younger and I still have a T shirt in my wardrobe that he wore the day before… if I sniffed it closely now it would still smell ever so slightly of him. Obviously scent is a really evocative thing and I’d have been gutted if things had been sent back to me smelling of an unfamiliar washing powder.
Just some weird musings as I’m feeling sentimental.