The Missus poisoned me at the weekend so the King of the Goths was laid up feeling non-too well. The offending foodstuff was a fish en croute and it resulted in something rather unpleasant happening to both our digestive systems. So I clung onto my Sisters T-shirt like some sort of security blanket as I tried to snooze off my pain – and I noticed the T-shirt smelt familiar.
It was a sort of vanilla aroma and the same smell also lingered around my one experience with a dead body. I mentioned this to the Missus and now the T-shirt has been washed the smell still clings to it. This intrigued me. Was my T-shirt possessed of some magical powers that made it retain a certain smell?
I discussed this with the Missus who suggested it would disappear in time.
‘But what if the T-shirt has some sort of magical smell? What if it really is the robe of the King of the Goths?’
‘Don’t be such an idiot…’
‘Maybe the King of the Goths has his own smell and this is it?’
‘Following the fish this weekend I’ve smelt the King of the Goths and it’s not a magical smell. I can assure you…’
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