Calpol is the tits

They say that your olfactory sense is the most powerful when it comes to conjuring up nostalgic, rose-tinted memories of days gone by.

Last week, during a dinner in Sa Pa with my adopted Dutch family, I excused myself to use the bathroom. On washing my hands with the restaurants strawberry soap I was overcome with recognition for the scent. It was Calpol. The 5 and under, strawberry Calpol (not the grim orange one you had to have when you got older).

Suddenly I was 4 years old again, sat on the bathroom floor drinking Calpol from the bottle I found in the cupboard under the sink (true story. And it happened more than once (sorry mum)).

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