Ooh, that smell

My local pharmacy is selling Pears soap for three bars per dollar. I don't think I ever bought it in the UK, but seeing it here, smelling that smell, well I just couldn't resist. (Note to self - next time you spend over five minutes sniffing soap boxes you'll probably be arrested.) They also have liquid soap and shower gel, which I can't get my head around. I mean I love the smell, but head to toe probably constitutes a small crime against humanity.

This morning I lovingly set out a bar in my downstairs loo, to be followed in less than five minutes by a loud pre-teen wail, "Ugh! What is this stuff?" Ever the Pollyanna, I comforted myself with the fact that he had actually washed his hands. As with Brussels sprouts, Marmite and Scotch Eggs, he will be made to embrace his heritage.

When British visitors used to ask what they could bring for me, my immediate requests were decent tea, Branston pickle and Feminax. I can get the first two here now and the Feminax makes me "unreliable". These days my request is for Dettol, another smell I love. My gran used it for everything - scrubbing floors, cleaning kitchen surfaces and disinfecting scraped knees. I wouldn't be surprised if she brewed up with it, just to stave off the cold she swore you got from walking around with wet hair. She would even put a dollop in our baths, which turned the water a cloudy white. It didn't half sting if you had chapped legs though!

I am okay on the Dettol front for the moment thanks. I have four bottles hidden away from my cleaner, who also likes it and "borrows" it to deal with her doggie accidents. (What has the world come to - I'm squirreling Dettol away?) I also have a gigantic bottle of unscented Dettol brought by a friend with a cruel sense of humour. I mean, what's the point?