Haven't we had some really lovely weather this week? Yes, we've had some heavy rain and a bit of wind, but it's been worth it for those bursts of sunshine, especially at the start of the week. It raises everyone's mood and results in the most glorious smells wafting over the fence into my back garden.
I love the smell of cut grass, the delicate scent of my neighbour's flower patch and the seemingly never-ending, mouth-watering aroma of meat and veg being barbecued in the vicinity.
I've been attempting a bit of gardening again this week and my nose has been accosted by the heavy, peaty smell of the soil and the sun-warmed metal of the trowel. You're probably thinking I have nostrils the size of the Eurotunnel to be taking in all those smells at once but the truth is that I have a condition called hyperosmia, where your sense of smell becomes heightened or hypersensitive.
Sometimes, people are born with it. For others, it can it can pop up out of the blue. For a few women like me, it's a natural part of pregnancy, appearing alongside morning sickness but, for some unknown reason, never going away.
It used to drive me bananas, trying to explain to people why the smell of certain shops and, more embarrassingly, some people's homes, left me feeling extremely nauseous.
Smells that other people love can churn my stomach - the heady scent of lilies in flower, the heavy smell of a new leather sofa or some super sweet perfumes can all have a negative effect.
When I was finally diagnosed and told that I didn't have never-ending morning sickness but instead a super sense of smell that had a name, hyperosmia, for some unknown reason, it made me feel a lot better.
The plus side of this condition is that when I come across the smells I love, like the summer scents in the garden, it's almost like I'm enveloped in them.
This week I discovered that one of my favourite aromas in the world also has a name. It's that smell when we've had a few lovely, warm, dry days on the trot and the earth has become a bit parched. When the first few drops of rain hit the thirsty soil, there's a fresh and slightly sweet, earthy fragrance that appears. Thanks to weather presenter Angie Phillip's Facebook post, I now know that this smell is called petrichor, coming from the Greek words petra, meaning stone, and ichor, meaning the fluid that runs in the veins of the gods.
It's a smell I can't get enough of, but then it's strange what smells individuals love. What's a heavenly smell for one can be a hellish odour for another.
Take, for instance, the news last week that two enterprising souls have set up a scented candle business, recreating the smells of the places people have been missing since lockdown.
Scents of Normality makers Paul Firmin and Niko Dafkos, have recreated the aromas of the cinema (I'm guessing it's a mix of sweet popcorn and an overdose of aftershave from the wee fellas taking their date out for the evening), festivals (the one for you if you're really missing the smell of muddy wellies, cider and overflowing portaloos) and last but not least, the pub. Or rather, the pub as it used to be because 'The Local', as they've called this candle, has the smell of spilled beer, rose wine, pork scratchings and something we haven't had in any local in a good while - the smell of cigarette smoke.
Why would you want their house to smell of any of that? It sounds like that stink you'd have in your front room the morning after the night before, following a particularly rowdy party, and I can't imagine anything worse.
But I'm sure there are others reading this who'd love to simply light a match and be carried via smell, like a bar-going Bisto kid, back to the pub. If that's you, go for it.
Personally, I'd rather stand in the garden and wait for the next heady dose of petrichor to float by my nostrils...