Strange smell is a whiff of my unglamorous life

THERE’S a saying in the recovery community — that is, the ex-drunks and ex-drug fiends who walk among us — to watch out for bunny rabbits.

It means be careful of the small stuff. People are good in a disaster — hurricanes, pestilence, plagues of frogs — but crack like faulty eggs when they lose their keys, forget an online password, or get a parking ticket.

So, if a mysterious smell wafts into the kitchen, you are relaxed. ‘Ew’, you might say. ‘Something’s a bit whiffy’. You do what people do when there’s a peculiar smell: you take the rubbish out, check your shoes, make sure the cat hasn’t been sick. All clear. Never mind. You open the windows and presume it will go away.