There is something queerly comforting and reassuring about the reek of dyed diesel and jet A. There is an agrarian joy to the stink of cut (or crushed) grass... And equally a bucolic floral niceness to veg run wild. There is even something to be said for the smell of hot tar or asphalt and the lithic sharpness of dust and concrete.

But I have nothing good to say about the cruel stench of deicing foam. That smells like the devil's diarrhea after logging on a diet of nothing but onions and garlic for month...