A more serious one...
July 2001 was not a happy time for me. I'd just split up with my girlfriend, and a friend of mine from uni (Gavin) was dying of motor neurone disease. I got the phone call from his girlfriend quite early on Wednesday the 11th, a lovely sunny morning, as I was wandering around the flat with a coffee and planning the day's work.

The funeral was that weekend. Went (slight pearoast, this was the thunderstorm/"give a kid a new toy" story) and came back, and, well, got on with things.

A couple of days later after a night of odd dreams which I may go into at some point, I woke up and there was a distinct smell of patchouli in the room. Now my ex *hated* patchouli, wouldn't have it in the house. Gavin on the other hand slathered it on his bike jacket by the pint, the greasy old prog rocker that he was. For the next couple of days I could smell it - only in the flat, not in the hallway - and then it went again.
(gordonjcp, Thu 3 Jul 2008, 23:13, Reply)