Kind of oily and metallic, mixed with the hot and dusty smell of the garage. A slight bit of decaying formaldehyde from the surfboards hanging above, and the residue from an ancient oil tin that still has a few drops left. There’s a dull-looking jumble of wrenches and screwdrivers and nails and screws – it’s clear that the box was well used and had more projects left to complete, before it lay abandoned and untouched for so long. Very masculine, extremely nostalgic – I feel like I’m trespassing on forbidden territory. It’s been so many years since these objects saw use in the light of day that it might as well be a Grandpa’s toolbox, but the smell still has the power to make me feel small again.