One day a few years ago, I smelt a disgusting smell. It was so awful that I spent hours trying to trace the source of it.

Because I am a smoker (don’t nag, I am continually trying to give up), I always go outside to smoke. I wear an old coat so that I don’t get so much rank tobacco smell on my clothes, and either sit in the garage or wander around the garden.

I was sitting in the garage, contentedly indulging in that filthy habit, when the smell hit my nostrils. It was a revolting smell, and it definitely seemed to be emanating from somewhere in the garage. I was convinced it must be something dead, probably a rotting mouse, or piece of something that the cats had left there.

First, I tried moving a few boxes and looking in all the dark places – no luck. I had other things to get on with, so I had to leave further exploration until later. The next time that I was back in the garage for a ciggy, the smell was unbearable! I decided that the only thing to do was empty the garage until I could track down the undoubtedly decomposing corpse.

Our garage is jam-packed with an assortment of all sorts of junk – my partner and I both have difficulty throwing anything away. We both have that nagging worry that we might throw away something that could possibly come in useful at a later date. Searching the place was a long task, but I still didn’t find the THING!

I decided to have a break, and wandered down the garden for another ciggy, then I realised that the smell was following me. I tried using logic. What, apart from me, had been in the garage and down the garden? By this time, I was pacing up and down, and doing a lot of muttering. I put my hand in my old coat pocket. Eugh! There was something squidgy in my pocket! I put my hand in again, and pulled out something that was indeed rotting and most definitely the source of THE SMELL – some hardly recognizable sprouting broccoli (calabrese)!

I remembered that the week before, I had been pottering in the garden, and had noticed that there were a few sprigs of broccoli ready to pick. I put them in my pocket with the intention of taking them up to the house with me, but completely forgot.

I could have kicked myself, in fact I probably did. How stupid! I’d spent all that time hunting in the garage, walking around in circles, and the THING was in my pocket all the time! The coat went straight in the bin.

The moral of this true tale is to always check your pockets first!