We were trapped. Sealed in a lift that was ripe with the stench of unwashed human. That malodorous cloud was a parting gift from the previous occupant. We spluttered out at the 9^th floor. ‘What was that stink?’ asked my 12-year-old. ‘That,’ I said, ‘was some serious B-O.’

I can bring to mind a handful of occasions, (mostly in aeroplanes) when I have flinched at the smell of another human being. Yet the faint milky sweetness of a baby’s head is intoxicating. I want to drink it in, inhale the newness and neediness of life. The musky scent of my husband is the smell of belonging – me to him – comforting and arousing at the same time.