Some months ago, I found myself besotted by a Netflix period fantasy serial called Outlander. Set in 1945, it tells the story of Claire Randall, a British nurse who is accidentally transported to 18th century Scotland and embroiled in the developing stories and histories of the ancestors of her Scottish fiancé from 1945. She falls intensely in love with a ruggedly handsome Scot called Jamie Fraser, surviving battles, incarceration, brutal violence and lots of sex, all the while searching for a way back into her own time.

I have watched three seasons of the riveting story, swept along by the high drama, intrigue and superb acting. As I reflected upon Scotland's fiery, volatile history with England and its centuries-old fight for identity, a powerful question arose in my mind: when did these fearless devils bathe? And with what? When beautiful Claire Randall stood next to her fair and indomitable Jamie, how was she not rendered senseless by the pong of his unwashed body?