Polo Sport

Just the other day I had the urge to apply cologne.

Now I’m not generally much of a scent man. Until 2001 I only owned one bottle of Body Shop No Debate aftershave. Then a lovely Chinese friend gave me her Polo Sport when she went back to Shanghai. I started to get compliments on my aftershave, but until I met Miss Ying I thought Polo Sport was a Volkswagen.

So, there I was, in my African bathroom, stepping out of the shower (I didn’t say it was a typical African bathroom!) and putting on my Gillette clear Gel, which smelt very nice; I suddenly had the urge to smell of Polo Sport once again. And then I let the thought go.

A few days ago I posted a list of things I miss. It’s that I miss those black jeans themselves (I actually have three identical pairs because I found them cheap in a Mad House clearance), but what they signify. They would be totally pathetic over here:

1. They’re black, they’d be very hot
2. They’re thick cotton and would be heavy in humidity
3. They drag on the ground and would soon get literally soiled

They stand for Pavements (side-walks), Lindy Hop, and London’s climate.

I was in the bathroom yesterday, shaving my head with a pan of water I’d heated on the stove; I thought about Polo Sport again. Somehow I decided it wouldn’t be satisfying. It wouldn’t be appreciated. I was thinking about indulging myself with scent because I was looking for a way to cheer myself up in the anticlimax after the party (saturday night I had a lovely party with colleagues and other volunteers, but thats another story for another day) Polo Sport was not going to be it. Neither was TV or even Lindy Hop, or any of those things that need to be appreciated in company. I was coming from need: I wanted cheering up. Whereas the other day I’d been coming from abundance, I was happy and I just fancied spoiling myself with some expensive perfume for my own pleasure. How did I get there, into that happy state of mind? If I knew I’d bottle it.