My grandmother is somewhat of an eccentric. I have such vivid memories of her bursting through the back door of our childhood home, rushing into the kitchen in her headscarf and shouting “cooeee” to announce her arrival. In the winter she would bring the cold in with her – the icy smell of harsh winter air would cling to her, although she herself felt impervious to such trivial things as the elements. I would always greet her with a hug and I loved the smell of her waxed Barbour jacket. It was metallic but soft and warm, accented by the smell of her perfume. The smell always meant good things; hugs from Granny and if we were lucky: sweets!
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