Gary Torrens was a north London hipster. He listened to post-Marxist ambient funk music and attended weaving shows while regularly buying hand-planed twigs for £17 a time from his favourite upcycling store in Brick Lane.
His furniture consisted of a piano that had several keys missing (and the front), but it was distressed, and was well worth the £1900, and a sofa which was torn and frayed (when purchased).
Gary didn't like his name, and changed Torrens to Torquemada after discovering himself in Spain, but switched and called himself GT once he was established in hipster circles. And from here, the author shall refer to him as GT.
One night, he had planned on meeting friends Enigma and Brewdog in their favourite Shoreditch bar on the Great Eastern boulevard.
However, while GT was waiting for his Uber, a cyclist whizzed past at the speed of light and ran over a sachet of mustard - which subsequently sprayed GT's grey skin tight jeans with globules of French Dijon.
GT was running late, so he pressed on.
Five minutes into the journey eastwards, his driver noted the smell. GT sensed a problem and the stench was strong - as if his jeans had come straight from the factoire de moutard.
Mustard was everywhere. The more GT looked, the more spots of the yellow stuff he found, although as a mustard fan, the odour was not unpleasant to his nose.
He arrived at Great Eastern St, and Brewdog was in fine spirits until he noticed the smell and appearance of GT's trousers.
"It's the new summer vibe," responded GT, as fast as quicksilver.
"There's a shop in Brixton that prepares them with mustard, hand dives them and presses them and they sell for a bargain £200."
Brewdog replied: "I'm tuned into the channel now brother, I am on your frequency. Can you get me a pair?"
The night passed, but the scent didn't from his trousers, but all three had a pleasant evening as they smoked cigars.
The very next day, GT bought some expensive Skansk Senap Mustard from Sweden and went to war with a pair of dark blue jeans.
Brewdog was delighted with his new smelly jeans, and GT was £200 richer, which meant he could purchase some more hand-crafted twigs. Deluxe edition.
Short story by Al Dudman, November 2023
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