STRANGE BREW

It’s funny what a particular scent can bring back to mind. They say that the sense of smell is the strongest sense when it comes to matters of memory, of course, but this still didn’t prepare me for the person who came hurtling back into my thoughts when I got a mere waft of a herbal teabag a few days ago.

I ought to explain, really, in case any of you have got hold of the wrong end of the stick about what a “teabag” is. I have, after all, heard rumours that, in certain circles, it no longer refers to a bag of tea that you dunk into boiling water to make yourself a quick cuppa, but has far more suggestive connotations. “Crikey!” Think I, “If something as simple as making yourself a cup of tea can now be misconstrued, then there really is no hope for us as a society at all...”

But, as ever, I digress, and nevertheless, I was on brew-making duties at work and instead of the usual “unhealthy” coffee or boring old PG Tips, one of m’colls proffered me this sealed packet marked with the legend “Detox” and I dutifully unwrapped it and plonked it into an available mug, poured in the required hot water, and delivered the sustaining brew with,  I’m sure, my usual cynical distain about anything “new” or “interesting” or “different” ringing in their ears as they sipped it on down.

Although, when I come to think about it,  there wasn’t actually anything “new” about it at all. One waft of that strange herbal brew and I was transported back a quarter of a century or more to a damp Saturday afternoon in South Wales. The person in question we shall refer to as “Marvin” because patently this was not his name. His real name, apparently spoke of a Viking ancestry, albeit via Bayswater, which probably explained the fact that he towered above many of us and had a rather clumsier than average relationship with the world.

On that particular Saturday afternoon, I was returning to my own tiny room that was my home from home when I noticed that the room that had previously been vacant seemed to have a new occupant, who, because he was an amiable sort of a cove, emerged from within to introduce himself whilst carrying a mug of some evil smelling liquid. This was “Marvin” and, in a futile gesture of friendliness, he offered to make me a cup of the same beverage which he was drinking. I declined, because with me, most gestures of friendship prove futile on the first half dozen or so attempts, but I did take a moment to ask what on Earth it was that he had in that cup and the answer came: “Herbal Tea.” He proffered the mug and I took a sniff and was instantly aware of a strong smell of fetid pond water, but I smiled politely, exchanged a few words of welcome, and went on my way.

Life in the same building as “Marvin” over those next few weeks was certainly eventful. He had a strange habit of writing essays to the sound of very loud music at all hours of the night which did little to endear him to the less insomniac inhabitants living off that corridor. Rumours reached our ears that he had been relocated, or perhaps banished, to our vicinity due to a catastrophic falling out in his previous dwelling place which had led to him reporting his entire floor because of the theft of a bottle of his wine from their communal fridge late on one Saturday night after the pubs had closed, which had led to enquiries, public warnings and general unpleasantness being directed towards his person by those whom he had reported.

Nowadays I think of this in much the same terms as “Witness Relocation” only without the death threats, anonymity and gangster element, but “Marvin” was indeed a figure with principles and would not be shifted if he thought that he had right on his side. This could, of course, just be down to a trusting nature of a general air of naivety, it’s rather hard to tell after all the intervening years. Certainly, back in those days, we were all a lot more sure of ourselves and had the confidence to stick to our guns before the shades of grey of adult life started to cause our beliefs to be tainted with doubts.

I certainly do think that there was a lot of naivety involved, though. Even as young, wide-eyed and fearful newbies the year before, my cynical old chums and I had been wise enough to steer well clear of the fun and frolics and general humiliating antics that made up the typical “Fresher’s Week” in a Welsh College with a heavy emphasis on the activities of its Rugby team. But not “Marvin”. Later on, we heard many tales of the humiliations he suffered during that first week in an effort to “fit in”, “join in the fun” and “make new friends” and it all sounded kind of ghastly when I heard about it, even with the possible embellishment of the Chinese Whispers being told to me months after the event.

“Marvin” also had a very vague air about him. Regularly he would put his fish cakes, or some other lunch item, under the grill in our tiny communal kitchen, walk away and completely forget all about it until clouds of smoke and bellows of “Marvin!” would come down the corridor and find him dashing from his room in a futile attempt to rescue them from incineration.

And then one day, just as suddenly as when he appeared, “Marvin” was gone, and life suddenly got a little dull and predictable again, if a little safer. Some said that he’d transferred to another College, although some of us did wonder whether his past had caught up with him and the gangsters in his former life had indeed disposed of him and buried him under the Begonias, but that seems very unlikely. I know that Rugby teams can take things very seriously, but to bear a grudge like that would seem a little excessive.

So “Marvin” was gone, life got back to something approaching normality, and I forgot all about him until I caught that familiar scent of pond water coming from that mug of “tea” the other day. Although, interestingly enough, and just to prove a little something about the interconnectedness of all things, on that very same day, a name from that very same past, who probably was well acquainted with that very same person popped briefly back into my life via the route of social networking after nearly a year of nobody at all wanting to track me down.

I wonder what bad smell it was that made them think of me...?