Eau de paint

Busy time. Painting my bedroom. Then, the man-cub's. Then, the bathroom. Definitely eau de paint.

I like the stippled markings I get from painting: tiny blotches spread across arms.

The thing is, though, no one ever mentions the smell of paint on lists of favourite smells. Lots of unusual smells end up on these, including petrol, aviation fuel, rubber, etc, but I've never once seen paint.

I think that is because it is neither pleasant nor interesting. Rather, it's a sort of irritating moist slightly alkaline fragrance that just doesn't sit right.

I have two more days until the Easter holidays start and need to get as much painting in between doing work. Meaning: there won't be a proper post on perfume probably until the weekend (well, I might manage Friday).

Oh, and it's cold again here -- as if weather-wise everything has been pushed back a month. It feels like March is leaving like a lion rather than a lamb. I really hope this is the last gasp of cold (and cold-rainy) weather and we'll be seeing proper spring soon. I think I should revisit Diorissimo, which I recall as being a true reflection of spring. Yeah, maybe we'll do lily of the valley on Friday.

Exciting news from Tauer Perfumes

The wonderful Swiss perfume company Tauer Perfumes made a number of exciting announcements at the Esxence perfume event in Italy (on 25-28 March).

First, the brand is moving to use of a new bottle design for all fragrances bar Une Rose Chypree (which will see a bottle change soon). The new flacons are dark blue glass shaped in a pentagon (you can view the design on Basenotes: www.basenotes.net). In addition, the branding of Tauer Perfumes will be changing.

Second, to my immense pleasure, is a new fragrance from Andy Tauer. Called OrangeStar, it is a gorgeous unsweet citrus, over an animalic base.

The new image, bottle design and OrangeStar all debut in mid- to late May.

More information will appear in the Spring Equinox edition of Scent-and-Sensibility Perfume's newsletter, to be released on 31 March. If you'd like to be put on the mailing list, please leave a comment.

From a dream ... and a small sadness

I had a very odd and vivid dream the other night from which I woke at 5:30 in the morning (it wasn't unpleasant -- just complicated and strange). It's not the dream that is the subject of today's post. Rather, it's the flash that came to me on waking: a very strong, truly vivid sense-memory of the Italian pastry cannoli which sent my salivary glands to work and my brain roaring.

Cannolis are among my absolute favourite sweet things. I haven't had them here (and hadn't dwelled on that), but did a search and now know of a few places to try.

Now, if you're not familiar with them, cannolis are composed of a round disc of flat sweet pastry that is formed into a tube. It is then quick deep fried so it is fillable and crunchy like a taco. It is filled with sweetened ricotta (and, I think, sometimes marscapone) cheese, sometimes chocolate chips and sometimes vanilla is added to the cheese.

These.Are.Sublime.

I used to have them fairly often when I lived in the Carroll Gardens area of Brooklyn in New York. CG is heavily Italian, so there were (and I hope continue to be) lots of wonderful restaurants, cafes and pastry shops in which to sample great things, including great cannolis (I recall buying smoked mozarella from the delis -- I wish I could find that here).

One of my favourite places to have cannoli, though, is nearby, in Red Hook, on Union Street. There's an old-fashioned focacceria there called Ferdinando's. Now, this place has lots of unusual, interesting things to eat, including pasta dishes (there's one with sardines and fennel). However, my fave treat is a panelle special.

Panelle is a disc formed of chickpea flour which is deep fried. It is served on a crusty roll with riccota cheese. I generally have it with a Peroni beer.

Lunch of a panelle special, a beer and a cannoli is food heaven. Seriously.

A visit to Ferdinando's is definitely on my to-do list for the post-Xmas visit to New York (there's also the pizza place under the Brooklyn Bridge, some proper Mexican food, an ice cream sundae that doesn't cost the moon, Ollie's on 7th Avenue for coffee, and some serious shopping at JCrew -- maybe I need to do a New York food and shopping post...).

I'm still wondering where the cannoli epiphany came from but I am happy it popped up. Googling cannoli got me to Sfizio on Theobolds Road (it's near Bea's of Bloomsbury -- good restaurants run in packs?). So, the man-cub and I are going to have to check it out during Easter hols. I'll report back.

________________________

On to the small sadness. The PerfumeShrine blog (www.perfumeshrine.blogspot.com) has reported that the Takashimaya department store in New York is closing down in June. Now, this is one beautiful place and it has a great fragrance department. But my special sadness is because this is where I discovered the Santa Maria Novella perfumes, leading to the discovery of a once Holy Grail fragrance, Patchouli. So not right for the place to close.

So beautiful

The new Balenciaga fragrance called Paris is everywhere: all the major newspapers/mags here have recommended it -- and are mindlessly fulsome. I had decided I need to try it at some point, but it seemed only available at Harvey Nicks and that's too much of a trek.

However, the other day I had to stop into Selfridges and -- surprise, surprise -- there it was. But, I already had scent on so I sprayed it on a blotter, sniffed and stuck it in the bag with my ribbon order for the site, from VV Rouleaux (great place -- if you like ribbons this is so worth a visit).

Anyway, I'd quickly sniffed the juice (and more on that later) but the thing that got me about this fragrance is the bottle.

This bottle is preternaturally beautiful. Like nothing I've seen in a modern perfume. Seriously. Worth dropping the dosh just for the bottle.

The glass itself looks to me like an old-fashioned bird-cage, one you'd find in an antique shop (I read it is meant to mimic a Balenciaga ballgown skirt). But the top, the lid -- oh my, goodness gracious: it's a gorgeous cracked black and white ceramic thing. Both the bottle and the top are heavy, beautifully crafted. If you gifted someone with this it almost wouldn't matter if they felt meh about the juice -- you would get so many brownie points for wonderful taste.

I know the blogs have been reasonably positive about the fragrance. On paper, I got green and violet, which is in keeping with what's been written (plus a soft woody-musk drydown). It's supposed to be close to the skin. I will go back and sample it on my skin soon, but truly violets aren't really my thing in perfume (although the purple violets in my garden are blooming and they are gorgeous -- the black ones, yes I have black violets growing, usually don't show up till later in the spring).

In truth, I can't imagine ever buying a perfume just for the bottle. So, I know I am unlikely to ever own this. However, if you can half-way see your way to liking the juice, this would so be a worthwhile purchase. And if you're in the runup to birthday, anni, etc, tell your beloved, friends, family that this might make you very happy indeed.

Ohhhhh, me too!

March from Perfume Posse (www.perfumeposse.com) is going to Paris and reading her post has so got me going. I want to go too. I've got this plan forming in my head for a one-day trip: doing the 6 AM train there and the last one at night back. So, having 12 hours in the city: time enough for pastry, lunch, pastry and dinner, maybe one museum, and a lot of wandering and getting lost in Paris streets.

And I think I might have to visit Serge at the Palais Royale. Never been. Do some sniffing...

No shopping except food, mind you (oh, and the museum ticket if I go -- maybe shuck that just to keep costs down).

Maybe ... just maybe ...

So curious

A few weeks ago, I read on NowSmellThis that Liberty would be getting the CB I Hate Perfume range. Very pleased. So I paid a visit to see what was what.

First off, very weird vibe in the store that day. Usually I find the SAs there to be sussed and not throwing off attitude, no matter how one is dressed or what store bags one is carrying. Not so on this visit. The first SA I asked about the CBIHP line looked at me blankly and didn't bother to go off and see if indeed they stocked the line. I ended up finding it myself. The second SA I asked regarding whether they would be taking on more of the line (there are currently six fragrances available) threw attitude like mad. Totally strange.

Anyway, the six perfumes offered (in various bottle sizes) are At the Beach 1966, In the Library, Mr Hulot's Holiday, A Room with a View, Black March and Fire from Heaven.

After sniffing all six from the bottle, I sprayed Black March and Fire from Heaven on blotters, asked SA number 2 whether Liberty was likely to bring in more from the line (quite possibly was the answer) and took myself off to smell a few other things.

Now, I have at least one sample vial of a CBIHP fragrance and recall liking the smell very much indeed. However, these are a different animal (yes, I know the agreement in that phrase is wonky) to orthodox perfume, in my view.

If you read perfumer Christopher Brosius' manifesto on his site, he's got serious 'issues' about how perfume is made, presented and worn in the mainstream. So, he's tried to do something completely at odds with the mass-marketed, the banal, the found-everywhere.

Certainly he has succeeded in his quest, in my opinion.

I picked Black March and Fire from Heaven to test not only because of the smell of scents from the bottles but because of the names. They beckon, promising something unusual, strange, maybe even a bit dangerous or mystical. Both smell good: Fire from Heaven of smoke and Black March of damp, newly turned earth in an old forest.

I recall the sample I have is called In the Summer Kitchen. It is that: the fresh cracked sapiness of summer veg, herbs, a bit of wood. It is a very good smell. 

These are ambients, for lack of a better word. Rather than an abstracted rendering of a fragrance concept, a memory or a feeling, these are straight up smells, quite literal and very carefully done.

I find myself having difficulty expressing how I feel about them as anointment, though. I could see having bottles of these to smell, to put on linen or use as burning oils. I don't really see putting them on me, however. I know there are lots of people who disagree with that, but it is my feeling.

Absolutely I am glad that they are out there, and that CB continues to produce them. When we visit New York later this year I will definitely include a visit to the main Brooklyn store on my things-to-itinerary. But, for me, the sniffing is the thing and that is enough.

Celebrating the equinox

At last! Happy arrival of spring.

As far as I'm concerned this should be the start of the new year, launching us into more light and warmer weather (although I do recall it snowing in April a few years ago).

We're celebrating with fresh pesto from the market for dinner this evening, double-petaled blush tulips for the table and fresh bread.

The daffs are out in force and I think a visit to Kew Gardens is necessary in the very near future.

So, I raise a glass to the vernal equinox. Thank. Goodness.

Undervaluing the sense of smell

Angela wrote a very interesting post on NowSmellThis (www.nstperfume.com) entitled 'Perfume Reality Check' (it's dated 15 March, so you'll have to scroll back a bit). Very worth reading with regard to the 'average' person's perception of perfume. Also, sad commentary on the real lack of interest in the sense of smell.

So, to celebrate both perfume and smell one of my list posts.

1. First perfume I recall owning. Love's Fresh Lemon Body Mist at around age 6.

2. Some favourite garden/plant smells. Lily of the Valley, philadelphus, mimosa, jasmine, honeysuckle.

3. First niche perfume I purchased. L'Artisan Mure et Musc.

4. First 'important'/classic perfume I purchased. Guerlain Vol de Nuit parfum.

5. Some favourite food/spice smells. Basil, cilantro, coffee, garlic, yeast, cardamom, basmati rice cooking, red wine.

6. Some fave outdoor smells. Hot asphalt, creosote, woodsmoke, petrol.

7. First serious holy grail (HG) fragrance. Santa Maria Novella Patchouli.

8. Fragrance notes that get me going. Jasmine, cumin, immortelle, iris, birch tar, amber (but not sweet), sandalwood, patchouli, vetiver, incense, tomato (see Hilde Soliani Stecca), dried fruit (date, fig).

9. Perfume I regret giving away. Frederic Malle Le Parfum de Therese.

10. If the perfume fairy (sort of like the tooth fairy) wanted to gift me, she could leave the following by my bed. Chanel Bois des Iles parfum, Hilde Soliani Vecchi Rossetti, the medium-sized bottle of Dior Eau Noire, Guerlain Candide Effluve, Divine L'Homme de Coeur, Tauer Orris.

Any items on your lists you'd like to share with us? Please do.

Perfume journey

As I mentioned earlier this week I took a small trip out to Ealing in West London on Tuesday morning. Was a journey too: bus, Northern Line, Central Line, bus. Ealing is way pretty. Lots of Victorian Houses, 1930s semis and green -- very very green. The woman I was going to meet, Bee, called it the 'Queen of Suburbs' in one of her emails. Certainly is.

Anyway, Bee's a perfumista -- and a serious collector of perfumes -- and she runs a couple of bookshops. Proper bookshops: small, interesting stock, places you want to browse and spend hours in. I pitched up at the shop called Pitshanger Books (which is on Pitshanger Lane -- you can take the E2 or E9 bus from Ealing Broadway station to get there).

Bee's a site customer -- but we got to emailing and the idea of a Scent Gathering at one of her shops came up. Thus, the visit. So, to my immense pleasure we're going to do a Gathering in late April in a wonderful setting of a bookshop. All kinds of pleasures at one go.

As we started chatting Bee disappeared into the back of the shop saying something about my recent post on cumin. She returned with several bottles, including an older one of Annick Goutal Sables. Glorious, gooey, animalic. Then, there was a Fragonard, Soleil. Again, that animalic undercurrent. Made me think I haven't paid enough attention to this brand and will have to remedy that.

We talked arrangements for the Gathering and then went to have a coffee nearby. More perfume talk, among other things. As I find to be the case with many perfumistas, you can talk fragrance endlessly and not get bored. Besides, you always end up talking wider than just perfume -- about how evocative it is and where it takes you; what certain perfumes make you think of or remember; dissect composition and think about the complexities of chemistry.

All in, a wonderful experience.

So, I'll be back in Ealing in late April. Looking forward to the Gathering and introducing more people to the lovely and idiosyncratic fragrances stocked on the site.

And, oh, did I mention there's a TKMaxx out there -- a big one...

Legend of a selkie

I took a very interesting trip out to Ealing in West London yesterday (a digression: there is a big TKMaxx near the Ealing Bway tube stop -- definitely going to have to check that out). I'll be posting about that on Thursday. But, something on the way there caught my eye and then got my heart going, so you're hearing about that today.

It was an advertising poster for a film. The film's called Ondine and the poster has a pic of a man and a woman with the tail fins (if that's the right label) of a seal.

She's a selkie: a seal in the water, a human on land. Another one of my beloved mythical creatures. Now, there have been films with mermaids (Splash, Local Hero). But, I don't recall one featuring a selkie (if I'm wrong, please let me know). I have to say: I much prefer selkies to mermaids.

This sort of creature presents an interesting smell conundrum. I assume the selkie in its seal form smells of animal and salt water. What about the smell of seaweed -- is that in the mix? But, what does it smell of in its human form? Does it retain any of the seal smell or any of the salt or both? Or, does it have a specific human fragrance that might work well with perfume?

The film is directed by Neil Jordan, who did the phenomenal Crying Game.

The reviews I've found are mixed and the film, while released (on 5 March), isn't showing at many cinemas at all -- like two in London.

I'm definitely going to have to see this -- even if I have to wait until it gets relegated to DVD. Once I do, I'll report back.

So rosy

I recently received a small decant of Rose d'Ete by Les Parfums de Rosine. As I know rose is a floral note that generally works on my chemistry this made me quite cheery. As a general principle, I prefer my roses dark and animalic, a little past their blooming prime. But, I was happy to have a go at something a bit lighter and fresher just for the sake of it.

Rose d'Ete is certainly a more innocent, fresher rose than I'm used to. Immediately on spraying my wrist, I thought of a high-summer garden early in the morning, before the heat has released too much of the different flowers' fragrances.

This starts out soft, slightly powdery and ever so slightly lemony on me, with an almost minty aspect.

The notes list I found includes apple, bergamot, verbena (hence, the lemon note), chamomile (maybe the mint aspect I get), yellow and spicy roses (so, does this imply yellow roses have a specific smell and what, indeed, are 'spicy' roses?), violet, mimosa, musk and amber.

As it develops, the lemon-mint accord endures but becomes underscored by the violet and musk.

However, the fragrance remains remarkably fresh and light, which, I would think, makes it a wonderful hot-weather perfume if you are inclined this way.

I ended up having to sample this over two days because of doing sample orders (meaning the perfume got covered up with other things I got covered in). Over that time I found it doesn't really develop more than I've already covered. That freshness with the lemon-mint aspect remains chugging over the violet and musk.

It is quite enjoyable, but I'm not overwhelmed by it and I can't see reaching for it a lot. Still, I'm glad to have had the chance to try it.

Light and sweetness

Many years ago, I visited Brittany ... in high summer. It was a revelation. I was living in New York at the time, and actually had spent most of my life in the mid-Atlantic region of the US. Right after the summer solstice, the longest it remained light was 9-ish. Maybe a bit later.

So, I think we had just arrived in a small town from Quimper and needed to eat dinner. Went to a square and picked a cafe with outdoor seating (it was mid-July). First savory crepes, then sweet. Beer, I think, too. It was around 9 PM when we started eating and it was a very leisurely meal.

I looked at my watch around 10:15: it was still light. I was completely and utterly entranced. To be some place where it was light from very early in the morning to quite late at night was mind-bendingly wonderful for someone who would hibernate if she could from December to late February.

I've been doing a lot of samples of Lostmarc'h Lann-Ael recently and it always conjures memories of that evening in Brittany.

Lann-Ael, by the Breton perfumer, is a no-holds-barred gourmand, but with a twist. It's sweet (vanilla) and smooth (milk) and slightly fruity-acidy (apple, and the milk too). The twist is the main note of buckwheat cereal, which mediates the vanilla, milk and fruit with a strange, unusual sort of chewy hay-like roughness.

It doesn't sound like a good thing, to spray on something that smells close to a cereal, but it actually works. The concoction is definitely sweet, but it is also interesting enough to be wearable. I've seen people comment on the boards that this is comforting. I don't get that really. Rather, I find it peculiarly enticing: whenever I'm making a sample I want to smell of it.

The other thing I like about this fragrance, beyond its smell, is that it pushes envelopes. This is very definitely a perfume even though it contains ingredients in its notes list that might put some people off trying it. Which would be a shame because it really does smell very very good. Sometimes simple and familiar are good. But, sometimes it's good to explore.

On Mothering Sunday

I don't remember 'doing' Mother's Day when I was growing up. My mum didn't seem much interested (in the US version, that is). I know we made things and cards at school that were brought home. Birthdays, Hannukah, she took seriously. Not this, however.

My mother was a wondrous contradiction: ruthlessly practical, but full of whimsy with a killer imagination and a seriously odd sense of humour.

She wasn't a perfumista, though I recall her using Jean Nate, 4711 and L'Air du Temps at various time. The cadged spritzes of the Jean Nate, however, are what I think put me firmly on the path of a perfumista.

She was more into earrings and lipstick. Don't recall ever seeing her leave the house without both.

I don't feel comfortable writing a lot about my mum, but a few bits will give you a pic of how awesome she was.

She was a bus captain for one of the big marches against the Vietnam War, leaving my brother and me with my father for the day. Independent.

She helped bring the union into one of the schools she taught in, and was the contract negotiator in a later school that wasn't unionised.

She had a fierce intelligence and taught classes ranging from biology to literature.

She made the best -- and I do mean the best -- chocolate cake in the universe.

I don't need Mother's Day to think of her, to remember, to recall the soft feel of her skin. I do it every single day.

I wish she could have known her grandson -- she would have been over the moon about him (and he about her) -- and seen this blog and my site, but I am of a mystical enough bent to believe she's aware of these things somehow or other.

Brave and truly idiosyncratic, she was a great, great role model.

The delights of tar

Short and sweet today. 

Was out and about this AM and what wafted towards me on the breeze but the smell of resurfacing. A road crew was re-doing several pavements and the air was suffused with the smell of tar/rubber.  It brought back summer in New York: the smell of asphalt in August (which is not like the smell of napalm in the morning).

Great smell.

If you've never tried Bulgari Black, there's a hint of rubber in that (though it's more vanilla on me). Birch tar is more leathery than this, but has a similar vibe.  

I am yearning for a pair of pewter ballet pumps. But, no. Maybe in the summer. The man-cub is going to need to get new trainers during the Easter break -- and maybe new school shoes too. I have loads of shoes, so it's justsayno to new ones.

Oh, and the vampires in my current reading all smell good and interesting: the male characters get to be dark spicy; the females range from the smell of jasmine through night-blooming roses to rain to the ocean. Very pleasing indeed. Author has a very decent imagination.

I'll be back Sunday with a proper post.

The smell of befuddlement

Had a busy morning yesterday doing site stuff and loading the new anti-viris protection on to my computer (I've used Kaspersky for the past two years, after McAfee let in a pain-in-the-ass virus and never answered my emails -- took a computer-savvy friend a whole afternoon to find an antidote, install it and get rid of the nasty).

Anyway, amidst all this activity, I kept noticing that something smelled strange in the house. Not totally bad, but a ever so slightly irritating -- and just I couldn't place what it was.

As I went about my various activities, I was getting more and more perplexed: that smell was slightly fresh and slightly floral and slightly off and odd, but not anything I could identify. I did some samples, wrapped a package, hung the laundry to dry, made tea a couple of times, etc, etc.

Finally, it occurred to me to smell the daffodils sitting on the table. Aha. There is was: I have two vases of daffs. Assumed they had no fragrance. That'll teach me to assume.

I love the smell of the daffodil's visual cousin, narcissus, but the lovely yellow blooms smell off-kilter, with ... a splash of urine. How startling.

I wasn't aware of any perfumes smelling of daffodils and now I know why. I love the papery, almost sour-powdery animal smell of narcissus: it's strange and interesting and beautiful.

The daffs look lovely -- and a couple of bunches can currently be had for under £2.

But, alas, by evening I realised I had caught some sort of lurgy that has me aching and sore-eyed (been feeling odd the past few days and now I know why) -- and I think the smell of the daffs has contributed to the intensity of it and some squeamishness. So, I don't think I'll ever be able to buy them again now.

"I am the Cinnamon Peeler's Wife. Smell Me."

Been thinking about cinnamon -- a lot. Go figure. Maybe it's because Mother Nature is laughing at me and it is very cold again. Could be because I've been baking.

When I was a child, one of my favourite breakfasts was cinnamon toast: toast spread with butter and then sprinkled with some sugar and cinnamon. If you got the balance of cinnamon and sugar right, it wasn't too sweet but the roughness of the cinnamon was cut nicely.

My mum also put cinnamon in plain yogurt for us to eat -- again, with a bit of sugar. I think that's why I prefer plain yogurt, with maybe a bit of honey or cinnamon, as an adult.

Years later, when I was seeing an acupunturist after my son was born, she recommended that I eat more cinnamon, to warm myself up. It takes a lot of energy to look after a newborn and, as you know, I get cold easily. So, I was to eat more cinnamon and ginger to help things along.

I once bought cinnamon bark tea with the expectation of a very cinnamony black tea flavour. No such luck. Turned out to be both almost flavourless and scentless. Truly odd. And very disappointing. I consider it unfair when something that promises fragrance doesn't provide it.

Lots of gourmand fragrances have a hit of cinnamon, which can be quite lovely. On me, Tauer Perfumes' Une Rose Chypree is a wonderful astringent but warm rose-cinnamon veil.

The title of today's post comes from a poem by one of my absolute favourite writers, Michael Ondaatje. The poem is called The Cinnamon Peeler and you can find the full version by doing a web search. I'm not going to quote any more of it  here -- go find it and have a read. Truly beautiful.

Discombobulation

Yes, it's a word. Even my British english dictionary thinks so. It means to disturb, to disconnect. I'm not feeling that strongly, but I just have a lot to do, in different places, and I think Mother Nature is getting back at me for saying March had come in like a lamb.

I've also noticed something really strange happens when I try to access some of the blogs: they go whacky and start to replicate. This has, so far, only happened with those hosted on Blogspot. Has anyone else had trouble with a Blogspot blog? I'm wondering if they are harboring a virus. Please let me know.  This happened when I tried to open Style-Spy and Pink Manhattan. Have had to run extra anti-virus scans. Irritating.

NowSmellThis has an interesting thread on over-saturation of the perfume market and personal choices of the best releases from the past ten years (www.nstperfume.com).

I'm just about to give up on lipstick and just stick to tinted lip balm. I have quite pigmented lips for someone who is rather pale in contrast to very dark brown hair with a fair bit of grey. So, if you have a suggestion for a sheer lipstick (not gloss, please) I'd very much appreciate it. I've tried things like Lipstick Queen Medieval, which doesn't look right. So, I think I need a sheer light berry. Anyway, many thanks in advance for any suggestions.

Maitre Parfumeur et Gantier Freezia d'Or

One of the other samples I was sent recently, along with the MPG Soie Rouge that I blogged about several days ago, was Maitre Parfumeur et Gantier Freezia d'Or. Long long ago I think I liked freesias, when I was a teenager. Not now.

I'm definitely with the hard-ass editor in The Devil Wears Prada: Miranda didn't like freesias.

As soon as I put this on my wrist, the back of my throat started to itch. That's what we're starting from.

Anyway, I think freesias are nice enough looking. They last pretty well as cut flowers in water (not that I've bought them in a long time). There are a number of different colours, so you get choice.

If you haven't smelled them, freesias are sweet, not ethereal, with a underslip of very soft powder.

This is part of the Les Accords Mysteres grouping on the MPG website, which I don't get at all. There's a straight up floral grouping, which is where I would have naturally grouped it. It's.Not.Mysterious.

FdO on me starts out straight up sweet and slightly mettalic powder. Warm and sweet. Powdery and sweet. Almost the smell of those powdery candies you grind between your teeth which make the sides of your tongue hurt.

There's something lemony in this, but not tart lemon -- actually, lemon drop candy (can we feel a trend) and a bit of mint.

I don't usually push what I'm smelling so much when I'm sampling but it was necessary to get past the sweet metallic powder.

I think this is fragrance rudeness: not that the perfume itself is rude (or skanky or pongy), rather I feel the need to be rude to it. I feel irritated and I am being rude.

I had difficulty finding a notes list for this. Bits and pieces add up to freesia, green notes, tuberose and musk.

And, you know: I'm going to  have to wash this off. I have very mild asthma. The only times I ever get breathless now and need my meds are during infrequent very bad colds. Perfume never bothers me -- until this. My chest is getting tight. Off to take a shower.

Celebration

Yesterday evening, I pitched up for a celebratory dinner with two friends at the Empress of India (yeah, I know, I have a 'thing' for this place, same as for Bea's of Bloomsbury).

The point was to toast, so to speak, a number of positive events experienced by each of us during the past few months.

After a three-bus journey (it seemed the best method at the time) I rolled into the restaurant 15 minutes late knowing Alison and Jane would be even later for our 6 PM reservation (the downside of working in the research deparment of an investment bank -- the upside being fairly obvious).

I settled in with a glass of Prosecco, the bread basket and my current book, with the Blackberry propped on the table and blipping every now and again to let me know of their progress. They rolled in just around 7.

Once they had their own glasses, we started in -- the toast and the discussions about all and sundry.

I've known both women for a fair number of years, but interestingly don't know that much about either. So, each time we get together something new pops up.

Both have been tremendously supportive of me regarding the website -- and both are customers, to my immense pleasure.

Jane is a Tauer girl, having fallen hard for L'Air du Desert Marocain immediately after sampling.

Alison seems to prefer citrus, having purchased Lostmarc'h Din Dan and Hilde Soliani's beautiful and strange Stecca.

It gives me no end of delight to have introduced these friends to the world of niche perfumes and to have been the enabler in their pleasure.

Anyway, we did a few hours of wine and lovely food, and they got to tease me mercilessly about my newest reading material (no, I'm still not going to say what it is -- can't go there).

I got home quite late last night (thank goodness the man-cub is still stomping through mud in Kent) and woke this morning, stumbled down the stairs and made tea. No breakfast, as the food, wine and talk had left me wonderfully full. Around noontime, I finally felt as if I needed something to eat.

A wonderful evening -- with a bit of the bitter-sweet, as Jane will be moving away from England soon. In all, though, a true celebration.

Does 'in like a lamb' mean 'out like a lion'?

Well, February certainly left like a lion here: pounding rain and gale-force winds. Yesterday, however, the 1st of March, was sunny and calm. Weather's supposed to be the same today. Wonder if that has some sort of mystical meaning: reversal of the cosmos etc. According to the BBC website, we're in for a bouncy ride over the next week, though.

The wonderful woman who enabled me regarding my big decant of Dior Eau Noire (I've got 30ml of the juice, which will hold me for a good while, I think) also sent along some surprises, including a sample of Maitre Parfumeur et Gantier Soie Rouge. Now, every MPG I've tried until now hasn't loved me, which is fine by me. The less I yearn for perfume-wise, the better.

I don't love Soie Rouge but it is interesting and not a little surprising -- at least to start out with.

This was released in 1988. Created by Jean Laporte it is powdery, but this powder has absolutely nothing to do with babies.

Notes include peach, exotic fruits, pineapple, carnation, iris, heliotrope, apricot, jasmine, musk, sandalwood and ambergris.

When I was looking around for a notes list, I happened upon a very brief review on the Bois de Jasmin blog from 2005. The comment in her post that stood out to me is that the characteristic musk of MPGs overwhelmed this. I kept that in mind through the development of Soie Rouge on my skin.

To start off with, this is peppery carnation on me and, indeed, very powdery -- and, there is something papery and rough, like fur smoothed the wrong way. I think the powder is the work of the pepper-carnation combo. It isn't unpleasant. It is, however, very heavy for a top of a perfume.

From the get-go, this is decidedly carnal. Carnation can have that aspect, but I haven't experienced it so up front in a fragrance.

After around an hour, the papery (iris-heliotrope?) aspect settles down somewhat and I get an inkling of pineapple (really, I do). And, this becomes more strongly musky. I think the muskiness interferes with the carnation, which is too bad.

After a good 4-5 hours, this falls off a cliff. It just becomes a soft peppery musk scent. Close to the skin, a bit silky, this has lost all of its initial power and uniqueness.

Even though I could never see myself buying this, at least at the beginning it had some oomph and distinctiveness.

This comes in like a lion and goes out like a lamb.  With regard to weather, that's a good thing. As to perfume, no, it's not. Too bad. Really too bad.

Penhaligon's Amaranthine

My son set off this morning for Kent for 2.5-day visit with his school class to an educational/environmental centre. Deep, deep excitement. He had trouble getting to sleep last night. Was up with the birds this morning. Jumped up and down repeating the name of where he was going. Got a text at midday from school saying they've arrived etc. I am sooooo tired.

Load of things done this morning: the bank, the post office, etc.

Got to have lunch at Bea's of Bloomsbury as a reward for the fact I can still stand up. Brought home a piece of their chocolate brownie cheesecake. Nirvana. If you're ever passing by and they have it -- don't hesitate.

And then, I finally got a sample of Penhaligon's Amaranthine. This precipitated so much noise on the blogs several months ago.

Man oh man, does it deserve it. I had smelled it on others: gorgeous, unusual oriental-ish fragrance. A real departure from any other scent from this house I have smelled.

I was soooo sure this would not on my chemistry. It is outrageously beautiful and gloriously skanky. And after a great start, no, alas (or maybe that's a good thing) it.just.does.not.do.it.

Initially, I couldn't get my nose off my wrist. A full half hour of buttery gorgeous skank.

But no. Indeed, my sample will go out in the post tomorrow to my friend Maureen, who is my scent opposite (if you check out the MUA fragrance board, people talk about having scent twins -- people who love and wear the same perfumes as each other). She can wear, oh so well, Frederic Malle Musc Ravageur (pale vanilla on me), Ormonde Jayne Ormonde Woman (beautiful fragrance, but absolutely not right on me), Knize Lady (powder on me). So, I figured she should get the Amaranthine.

Anyway. This was composed by Bertrand Duchafour and the SA at Penhaligon's made a point of saying the company had thrown a load of dosh at this. After putting the tender to about a dozen noses, they chose the BD's composition.

Notes are green tea, white freesia, banana tree leaf, coriander seed oil, cardamom absolute, rose, carnation, clove oil, orange blossom, ylang ylang oil, Egyptian jasmine absolute, musk, vanilla, sandalwood, condensed milk and tonka bean absolute.

On me, it starts buttery (ylang ylang? and cardamom) and green (coriander) and the banana. I get a bit of tea and some clove. It is oh so lovely.

But then we do a slider and I get the freesia. Big time. Uh, no. I can't do freesia. The carnation chases it, and I love carnation, but um... no. I think that's finished things for me.

And then, and then... well, I went to do some samples for an order and the next time I smelled my wrist all I got was Hilde Soliani Stecca (which I love). But, the Amaranthine was gone.

So, the moral of this post is 1) don't do samples when you're trying to focus on one perfume and 2) you really should get a sample of Amaranthine and try it because if it works on your chemistry, you're one lucky perfume bunny.