I have no idea why, but recently I bought this particular brand of mustard (Thomy), and every time I look at it I feel happy. Must be some kind of buried happy memory from my earlier years, like Marcel Proust's cake. Don't you wish you could trace those deja vu moments? Sometimes I can. Like when I smell petunias I'm transported back to walking home from primary school and passing the brightly coloured and slightly gaudy flower gardens in front of the orange brick veneers. Or when I smell diesel fuel I remember living in the small and picturesque German township of Blaubeuren, which had a steady stream of trucks driving through it.
Borrow for the holidays – new non-fiction
1 month ago