Deep Breathing

Is it at puberty when people – let's face it, girls in particular – begin worrying that they smell bad?

What I'm leading up to is Addictive Sniffing. … Okay, there was a little Snorting during the Experimental Period, but I didn't inhale.

I'm one of those annoying people who hits the ground running at 6.30am, but who
head-buts the keypad just after lunch from sheer fatigue – partly due to an effortful lung-expanding Sniffing Schedule. I could patent it for anyone avoiding the gym, but wishing to develop a big chest and dispense with diving equipment.

Daily schedule goes something like this:

(Sound of duvet cover being thrown briskly back and reaching with feet for slippers.)
Self: Euck! Ouch. Bloody hell!
(Bang of cat-flap as Tomcat speedily exits.)
Self: Entrails, between the toes, aghkk!
(Begins hopping towards bathroom, trying to do up dressing-gown.)
Self: Ow! What was that? Oh, a beak! Gross ...

I gingerly remove the beak, then wipe mess and blood off feet frantically with loo paper, simultaneously adopting a lemon-sucking expression. This strengthens face muscles.
Raise lid of lavatory gingerly, due to fear of faeces and drop in tissue (of both types) from great height. Rinse hands thoroughly under bathroom tap, rinse tap, rinse hands, turn off tap. Sniff fingers three times. Let's not get neurotic about this; they smell fine.

Dressing-gown was on the floor, has cat done something horrible to it during the night ..? As well as slaughtering things nearby, of course. Vivid mental vision of feline spraying his territory, despite not having a hormone to his name since the Trip to the Vet. He's never forgiven us – hence the head under the bed payback.

Remove dressing-gown and inspect it minutely, in chilly dawn light of bedroom window. I gradually become aware that our Paramedic neighbour, returning from his night shift, is staring across. Drop to floor below window level clad in annoyed frown and ancient sleeping vest. Can't see any blood on dressing-gown. Sniff at fingers three times each hand, front and back.They smell fine.

I neurotically sniff the whole of dressing-gown – 19 sniffs in all – it doesn't seem to smell horrible. Perhaps my olfactory nerve isn't working. Yes it is: I can smell the compost bin in the kitchen from here. Crawl on hands and knees past bedroom window to bathroom. Cat's passed along this hall and he probably cussedly slept in the cat litter tray again, despite having a sumptuous cat sofa. Sniff hands, three times front and back and also my wrists for good measure. All seems fine, if a bit dusty.

Exhale hard and feel dizzy. Have shower, paying neurotic attention to washing.
Emerge, reach for towel, then remember that towel was seen left on lid of lavatory yesterday afternoon by partner.

I try and sniff at towel with the breath control of an opera singer, but begin hyper-ventilating and my vision shimmers interestingly. Towel seems fine, but by this time most of the water previously on me is in a puddle round my feet on the floor. Drop towel on it, gingerly mopping with my feet. Get dressed as fast as possible trying to avoid sniffing anything at all, even when nose runs.

Return for towel. I pick it up between finger and thumb and feed it into washing-machine with my foot. Fall over. Hobble to kitchen tap and rinse finger and thumb. Rinse tap. Rinse fingers. Sniff hands 6 times, seems fine- See neighbour staring at me out of his window.

Perspiring with embarassment, I smile unwillingly at him and feel my face creak as the frown furrows smooth out. He gestures wildly; I open the sash window.
He says: 'Sorry to bother you - your cat's just killed something big on our patio. Wouldn't matter, but I need a kip and the wife faints at the sight of blood. Haven't seen such a mess since I had to cover a boxing match. If you wouldn't mind?'

Perhaps the perfect pet would be a nice shiny goldfish ...

- Helen Poskitt