It was cold and wet as I walked home from work yesterday.
My hood was up and my head was down, watching the point of my cowboy boots plough through the damp autumnal leaves (yes, trying to not slip).
I smelled smoke, wood smoke, my favourite winter smell, so I looked up to try and find the source and say thank you.
It was at that moment that I realised I was currently walking past none other than the local funeral parlour.
The smoke was actually coming from a house next door, but for a second I wanted the ground to swallow me whole because Oh My Freaking ... I just thought about how the smell of bodies being cremated was my MOST favourite smell in the world. And that is wrong on too too many levels
(title (c) My Husband, and probably a lot of other people, just not me)