The Smell of Home

Home smells dusty. I grew up in a double brick house so you would get used to the smell when you were living in it day to day, but when I would come back from weeks at my dads, or holidays, or even years later when I came home from university, it would be like a smack in the face. A hit of nostalgia, love and this sense of home.

Growing up our house smelt of Bolognese, Chicken Wings and Burritos - quick meals that could feed 7 mouths. Dinners that would be devoured between loud chitter chatter and outbursts of laughter.

My mum has a dressing gown. It was white, or perhaps off-white might be more accurate, and crusty in most of my memories. When we were sick she would wrap us up in it. My sister and I walked around the house with it draped around us, its length dragging along the ground. It smelt like her. Not like her perfumes, or sweat but… like home.

Growing up my step dad was a sommelier, and taught people how to smell notes in wines. I remember sitting with sets of vials, opening each one up, guessing the smell then moving onto the next. Sometimes it was instant - like “I know that!” but other times it was like this fleeting memory you're trying to grasp at, but each time you get close it flutters away. Since then thinking about smell, trying to place that memory, or pick out that one scent, reminds me of home too. Home can be any place, person or memory. What does home smell like to you?

Home can be any place, person or memory. What does home smell like to you?