Confession time, for context: my senses aren’t exactly the sharpest. Coming from a moderately myopic family, some visual impairment is probably inevitable, but my stubbornness to embrace neither specs nor contacts sets me apart. Nine times out of ten, my (frequently misplaced) glasses are relegated to bottom-of-bag territory, gathering dust alongside ageing receipts and forgotten coins: I convince myself that distant landscapes look more romantic in a soft blur. Similarly, my aural abilities are questionable at best—tactful whispering has never been my strong suit, while conversations at clubs or concerts are personally outlawed. My almost-nonagenarian nonna beats me at both senses, having spent her formative years mercifully free of headphones and laptop screens. My sole saving grace is my nose. I’ve subconsciously chronicled a life’s worth of memories through scent. Wild garlic whooshes me back to childhood walks in the Irish countryside, while certain disinfectants recall nervous first-day treks through school corridors. My subsequent move to Florence was categorised no differently with a panoply of new smells—most perfumed, some pungent—suddenly at my disposal. While each season brings a fresh lot of findings, some scents are perennial: the following aromas, listed in no order of preference, are pervading Florence right now.