hollytoneHaving downed a couple cups of Joe (what see below), ol’ Robbo toddled out this morning to give the hollies and azaleas of Port Swiller Manor their annual autumn feeding of Holly-tone.

Ol’ Robbo loves him the smell of Holly-tone.  It’s either a good bad smell or else a bad good smell, if you know what I mean:  Arguably niffy on an objective basis, but with use and because of the associations surrounding it eventually becoming musick to the nose.  Sort of like horse-manure in that respect, the smell of which I got to enjoy through hanging around stables so much in my misspent yoot.  (I’m sure friends of the decanter can think of other examples of this phenomenon, not all of them necessarily pastoral or agricultural.)

It’s not like I’d buy a bottle of Eau d’Tone cologne or anything, of course, but when I’m out scattering the stuff about, I enjoy it.