Certain experiences during my mid-teens a quarter of a century ago left me with this strong Pavlovian reaction to a ladies’ perfume called White Linen. It’s not very popular any more, and not at all among young women. So imagine my moment of confusion when without warning a whiff of White Linen hits me at George Best airport, making me automatically prick up my ears — and I find that the wearer is a stout 65ish grandmotherly lady in a floral print dress.