The Worksop air is usually filled with a million different mysterious odours.
From the smell of sizzling burgers wafting down Bridge Street to the foul stench off the Ryton on a warm day.
There’s also that weird glue-like odour on certain days and the stink of manure on some distant fields or other occasionally.
But there’s one smell my nostrils are picking up more and more as I take the air on Worksop’s streets.
It’s a smell familiar to anyone who has been within a few hundred yards of a university hall of residence.
That pungent, unmistakeable whiff of cannabis.
Every few doorways I pass, every car park and certainly every congregation of sallow youths wandering past seems to reek of the stuff. Has Worksop legalised drugs without telling anyone? Are we defying the central government like Colorado?
Are we the new Amsterdam without the windmills, tulips and cloggs? It’s a smell now as commonplace as fag smoke or BO as you wander down the street.
Day or night, spring, summer, autumn or winter, it doesn’t seem to matter.
The other day I spotted some young scroats puffing away on their Jamaican woodbines in the middle of the day at a bus stop without a care in the world.
This is hardly the place for a discussion on whether cannabis should be legal or not - I just don’t want to be inhaling it on the way to the bookies, or even worse the doctor’s.
Grundi is also getting worried about losing his svelte physique from attacks of the munchies simply by going for a walk.
No wonder this town has such a problem with obesity, and Burger King are suddenly so keen to open a restaurant here.
Though on the plus side, I have been chuckling a lot more to myself recently...