Driving

It is a glorious afternoon and I whiz through the country lanes with the windows open and the wind in my hair. The smell of FCA* is dispelled by the strong odour of wild garlic, and the delicate yet powerful fragrance of bluebells in the woods. This, and the new buffoon of a London mayor, makes me think I won’t move back to London just yet.

*FCA: Fresh Country Air, a childhood euphemism for the stench of rotting manure that hangs in the air after farmers have been muckspreading.