Muscat for the forts, but the souk kept being on the way. Eleven attars in six days. She calls it a problem. I call it research.
There is a version of me that goes on holiday and switches off. My wife has never met him.
She took us to Muscat for the forts, but the souk kept being on the way. I tried eleven attars in six days. She calls it a problem. I call it research.
Number nine got me. A shop where the tourist lanes give up, an oil the owner said was older than the shop.
He put a drop on my hand at ten in the morning. No tricks, one line that did not move.
At midnight it was still there, only deeper, and my wife asked why I was smelling my own hand. Fair question.
The next morning I went back and asked. Oud, he said, and something else. The something else got a smile.
It irritated me the whole flight home. I knew what it meant: starting again on an oil I thought I understood. Starting again, for me, means ninety days in steel.
There is a small batch in it now, in Redbourn. You will hear about it soon.