I Wish I Were...

A Dog.

Incredible sense of smell,they have, by all accounts.
And Memory, seemingly, is largely triggered by Smell.

So, I would like to be a Dog, who is a Bitch to "Smell."

The subject of my Jacket has raised its head recently......

And how it came to be so "Designerly Distressed"....

Trust me on this, there were no fuckin Designers involved....

I distressed myself by paying a stupid amount of cold hard cash for it..

But it holds my shape much better than I do myself.

It still, I'm sure, carries the gasoline stink of the Harley Evo Softail that delivered me to The Coombe Maternity Hospital, utterly ossified, for the delivery of the Princess.
It is shiny, in parts, from nappy cream and vaseline, puked up pears and teething-needed chewing.
It is creased and greased in the arms, from work, and play, and lifting all the heavy things a Daddy needs to lift.
Im sure it holds a faint scent of fox-shit, from a memorable hike up Kilranelagh, with Wonderful World and The Princess, and perhaps Spanner and Harry too. (Guinness, "Wonderdog", R.I.P.). Or both.
It retains the scent of crayons, and banana sandwiches, from Her first day at school.
And somewhere, tucked in the frayed and uber-distressed lining, is Her first tooth, lurking like a beautifully cursed Egyptian talisman.
And not to forget a quite remarkable stain, along the shoulder, of fajita juice, uncleanable, spilled by herself in an uncharacteristically thoughtless moment.

As if I would clean it....

So...if I could be a dog...

I could recreate every one of those moments, by smell alone, every time, (every day), that I assume its mantle, like a second skin, the memory-laden fetish I refuse to shed....

Woof.