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March 14, 2021



‘I’m a ‘Youth Dew’ girl,

she would always insist to me.


I told her that I found it

a little over-powering,

and that maybe she

should use a tad less.


I would sneeze as soon as

she clambered into my car.

We would give each other

that same knowing look.


Her first words always the same:

‘You’re flaming crackers, and you

can turn that racket off the radio too –

lets talk instead’.


That’s how it was, mile after mile.

She talked and talked. I listened 

and occasionally butted in.

I’d heard every word many times.


She loved dogs and trees,

and ten people and me,

but the rest of the universe

could all ‘sod off’.


In an attempt to suppress

another imminent sneeze,

I would mischievously press

the passenger window switch,


and her window would come

flying down, letting in some

lovely, cool clear air, and scaring

her witless, in the process.


‘Put this window back up,

you damned idiot’, she would

demand, closing her eyes and

shaking her head in dismay.


Oh. what I would give to

smell the perfume on her today!


Now, more than a decade on,

I occasionally catch the aroma

of Youth Dew on someone that

I pass in the street. and choking back

tears, face all the comeuppance

I deserve.


Sorry for being such a bitch Mum

Love you tons.


written by Harriet Blackbury

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