Oh dear. I expect it's me. Saying [bad word] all the time. I'm sorry.

And yet I have synaesthesia too, sometimes more, sometimes less. Since I was a naughty little girl, swishing my potty so my mother would think I had a bad tum [OK?] and not make me go to school, I've rejoiced in all sorts of smells and textures and sounds and sights. I love the smell of horse [droppings?] for instance. I know. I'm supposed to say yuck and avoid, but why? When it's such a rich [sensation?]

For what it's worth, my mother loved the smell of asphalt-spreading to which I would say yuck myself.

I'll try and do better on the [bad word] front - maybe I could substitute Hungarian? Would that be OK?