Fascinated by what my grandmother said, I became more and more curious about perfume. I consulted encyclopaedias and borrowed library books and read everything I could get my hands on about perfume history, the growers in Grasse and the great perfume houses. I was captivated by the stories surrounding roses, jasmine and lavender, and the exotic names: Galimard, Houbigant, Coty, Guerlain and Chanel. Later, as a teenager I taught myself the basics of blending oils by studying fragrance pyramids, becoming familiar with base notes, heart notes and top notes. I sniffed, inhaled deeply and quizzed myself on scents, and after many years I was able to identify and recall many individual notes and oils, filing them in my memory like words from a new, exciting dictionary.

My perfume-making experiments consumed my weekends. I gathered up empty pill bottles and filled them with my fragrant experiments. I understood that when I sniffed a perfume the first thing that grabbed my attention and drew me in was the volatile and vibrant top notes, but that when I blended a perfume, creating it from scratch, it made more sense to start at the bottom with the slow-evaporating, deeper-scented base notes. By working that way I was able to gain a greater understanding and appreciation of the overall structure of the perfume. I could also experience the various temporal shifts leading towards the drydown, the lingering twilight moment before the perfume disappeared.

As an adult I developed my own approach to perfume construction, one that made sense to me and helped to provide a framework for my creations. Base notes anchored my scent and therefore represented my past – my family background, my history and all my memories. These soul notes might not seek attention but they were always there, occasionally flaring up or entering my thoughts when I least expected. The heart notes symbolised all the things that added meaning and purpose to my life on a daily basis: my home, my work, colleagues, my interests such as perfume making and reading. The heart notes represented my centre, and carried my story, linking my past to my future. The top notes were the spark and dazzle, the flourish. They could be sharp and challenging, but they provided energy and they offered hope.

Recently I lost my job. After fourteen years as a university lecturer in the American studies department I was made redundant. The humanities were restructured and not only was I shoved aside but the department itself disappeared. Apparently, under the management for change model, it was no longer relevant or economically viable. It had no future.

When I was employed, I didn’t need a signature scent to know who I was. I was a smart, professional, financially independent middle-aged woman. But lately, I’ve felt disembodied and confused, a collection of broken parts, and Granny Seren’s description of the incomplete woman keeps coming back to me.