When I was talking about the power of smell on the radio, Speth, a Welsh speaker from Manchester, got in touch to say that in Welsh you can hear a smell as well as smell it. At first this sounded charming, if far-fetched. But the more I thought about it, the more sense it made. While I can’t – in English, anyway – exactly hear the smell of that Black Country bike shop in 1977, I can smell, hear and see it very clearly. I can feel it too. I can feel the shop man’s grip as he lifts me into the saddle. And I can hear him saying to my grandad: “Blimey, he’s a lump, isn’t he?” Ever sensitive about my weight, that was a sour note. But I’ll let it pass, because all I can feel, then and now, is the general joy.
When they removed the bag, they discovered severed arms and legs in a black bag, the documents said.
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I have no doubt it was fun, and believe me, this post is not meant to ridicule anyone or incite any form of hate, but I think calling it “DRM” is a little far-fetched.
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non-technical people. However, the quality of the generated code may vary