I remember the first time I remembered a smell. This was remembering to the extent that it stopped me in my tracks, taking me back to a specific moment, a specific place and a specific feeling. The smell was that of a bike shop. Mainly rubber, with notes of oil and plastic and a strong hint of sheer excitement. In that instant I was about 10 years old, in Bache Brothers Cycles at Lye Cross, near Stourbridge, in the West Midlands. My grandad was next to me, with the shop man. I was getting a bike for my birthday.
他無力負擔療養院費用，只能留在工廠宿舍休養，以泡麵果腹；為了保住工作，即使右腳仍麻木刺痛、無法久站，半年就後重返工作崗位。
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