Message from a sick Musette:

The Haiku winner is OrbWeaver! She came closest with 3 match-ups.   Scents (in order)  En Passant/Angelique/Bigarade (either)/Lys Mediterranee/Carnal Flower/French Lover/Fleur de Cassie.

Get in touch. baby.

And I’m out of sorts too. Insomnia due to restless legs = lower back nerve problems = whiplash neck = alignment treatment = serious spasms = grumpy twitch face.

I’m getting more mobile but this week is a write-off. Top tip – if your spine is out of alignment, get it seen to, and pronto!

Love to all.

Lee

(I’m reprinting this for Lee (Patty is) since it didn’t show up for many of you on Friday)  – And March just got on here and cleared formatting because it still isn’t showing, wah wah

By Lee

On Wednesday, the Lovely Lady March led us merrily into the world of simulacra – the perfumes you’d list as must-sniffs in terms of their representations of the real. And what great work you folks did in suggestions, recommendations and thoughts.

I had this post planned before I knew what March would be writing. Honest. It’s just synchronicity, innit.

I’m 42 next week. And a bell is ringing on my fragrance array, as loudly as the one saying ‘you’re in middle-age, dude’. These markers in life make me respond in what some might say are extreme ways.

A protestant work ethic minimalist at heart (if not in practice), the perfumes in my collection/hoard have long been bothering me. Not all of them, but the majority. You see, I just don’t wear them. A collection is just not necessarily a set of things you wear I guess – it’s more a personal choice of highlights from the plethora of perfumes in existence or dead, as well as a map of the perfume landcape that you’ve shaped for yourself in some way. But… I’m tired of all that land. I love how the hills and valleys and glades look, but perhaps all I need is a small plot to call my own, that suits me best. A picket fence and a neat little house. One or two hills and a shady vale. Perhaps a dark forbidding wood. But not much more. Under a hundred acres, not a continent. I can always visit that continent if I want, but I don’t have to call it mine.

I’m ruthless with clothes. There are those items I keep because I wear them and they’re vintage and wonderful. And there are those more transient garments that wear out from overwear (tautological? Me?), or are just no longer right. They go – the former to the bin or the garden store (dusters, rags, paint drip collectors); the latter to charidee. And I stop wearing some items altogether – denim jeans for example. I’d love to, but I’m farcical in young and funky, and depressed in old and fogey.

The same with perfume. I have samples for those that I need to sniff, but now, if I don’t wear em, they’re gone. Last year I reduced from 120ish to 60ish. This year, I’m going for thirty or under. So, in the Lee-is-brutal rules of perfume ownership, I’m only keeping those that I know I wear regularly, or I know I might not now, but I will again soon. What follows is my ‘you-are-so-totally-owned’ list. It’s a long way from completist and you might think ‘hey, he needs X or Y to sit alongside those’ . By all means tell me if you think the need is there, and I might respond. I’m just under 30 – I have room for one more. Maybe.

Christian Dior

Dior Homme – only 10mls left. I won’t rebuy it. I overwore it and like skinny trousers, it doesn’t really fit now.

Bois d’Argent – a forever love. If nothing else works, I can rely on a trip to the silvery woods (where money grows on trees) to make me smile.

Eau Sauvage – forever crisp white shirt suitable.

Yves Saint Laurent

M7 Fresh – another one that’s running low, and won’t be replaced. But I have affection for it, simply because it’s my man’s favourite.

Rive Gauche pour Homme – the best fougere for me. Barbershop soap and salt. I’m not sure it actually is salty, but it works that way.

Cartier

Eau de Cartier – high pitched violets and crispness. A summer essential.

Declaration – spicy translucence.

Bulgari

Bulgari pour Homme – another summer no-brainer. Nothing special, for those nothing special happening days. I’m surprised the bottle isn’t nearly empty.

Editions de Parfum

Geranium pour Monsieur – it makes me want to put creases in my shorts, tuck my shirt in neatly, and buy boat shoes. And I hate boat shoes.

Nicolai

Balle de Match

Eau d’Ete

Eau Exotique – all three are Nicolai’s cheap and cheerful summer smells, rather than the Guerlainesque richness she’s more rightly known for. You can happily never OD in spraying the final of the three, but a little of the first two goes a long way. Grapefruit richness and fresh musk can easily be overdone. But I only have 30 ml bottles of both – great for my work bag on hot days.

Hermes

Terre d’Hermes – in parfum, to replace my empty edt bottle. A necessity for me.

Ambre Narguile – when I’m in a scarfed up, brr it’s cold and I need stodge, I’ll probably go for the Nazgul before I go for cake.

Poivre Samarkande – anyone who doesn’t get this, and then get it, is crazy. Perfection in pepper.

Different Company

Sel de Vetiver – my favourite summer fragrance.

Parfumerie Generale

Coze – the best of outdoors in a bottle.

Divine

L’homme de Coeur – spring refinement.

Guerlain

Jicky – in parfum de toilette. I did have it in parfum, and will again. Of all the great classics, it’s this I’m most loyal to.

Vetiver – see Eau Sauvage.

Eau de Guerlain – for when you need the sun to shine.

L’Artisan Parfumeur

Timbuktu – my second favourite incense, plus extra oddity.

Le Labo

Poivre 23 – a phenomenal oriental.

Patchouli 24 – I guess Dr Jekyll is renting lab space in the basement of my neat little house. I’m glad of it.

Serge Lutens

Encens et Lavande – my favourite incense. My most meditative scent.

Santal de Mysore – rich sweet spicy.

Arabie – and again, but different enough to justify both. One is more main course than dessert, but they share plenty of flavours. They are winter favourites.

Muscs Koublai Khan – the only ‘real’ musk I wear.

Borneo 1834 – grey suit., white shirt, leather briefcase. Glasses. Serious face. Adds mystery to the mundane. Quixotic to the quotidian. Dash to the drear. Etc.

And there’s one more I didn’t mention. A 30ml bottle of Mitsouko parfum. It’s preformulation, oakmossy wonderfulness but I NEVER wear it. Therefore, it breaks my rules. Somehow it feels like I have to keep it. But I’d swap it in an instant for some Jicky parfum.

So, if you had to reduce your collection to just 30 (and don’t worry folks, I’m only in charge of crazy old me, and not the rest of the world…), what would definitely be in, based on MY RULES? And if you have under 30 in your collection, what would you like to add in to round up that there number?

Lee

So, I was in London on Monday and stopped by my favourite department store. I was daft enough to forget to smell the new l’Artisan vetiver, but I managed to get my schnozz to hover over much of the new stuff I’d been missing out on.

And… you know… I’ve nothing to report. My occasional Fridays are so low on actual perfume commentary I’m surprised Patty and March haven’t given me the heave-ho. Most of the new left me unengaged or non-plussed. The Costume National Homme was… nice. I’ll try a bit harder. It’s a Ropion creation that charts a journey through the spice route to a sweet amber drydown. It’s truly very pleasant. Though the drydown lacks interest and it’s a little too insistently sweet ‘n’ spicy for me.

So, I got home and looked at my shelves of perfumes and divided them into those that are worn with frequency, those that are in the ‘have to keep’ camp, and those that are surplus to requirements. And the news is, I’m heading to around 30. I feel like I’ve experienced some kind of trascendentally scented colonic treatment.

Meanwhile, the spectacle obsession continues to grow, but that’s altogether another story.

As I’m rambling, I might as well tell you about the scents of my holiday – umbrella pines, iodine, chlorine, mint and lime, dog crap, dried male urine, wafts of restaurant garbage, various eaux de cologne and lemon refreshers, sun tan cream, stale drains, hot concrete, rosemary, lavender, oleander (I didn’t know this had perfume), datura, sweat, cool nights, bright light, hot skin, tuna, olive oil (grass-like), coffee, coconut pastries.

And here’s Portugal’s recessionary evidence. Even in the country’s equivalent of Orange County, $10 million homes half-built and abandoned to graffiti, largely of the misshapen penis variety. The graffiti, not the homes. Though there was a heartfelt message to a missing lover. Perhaps those misshapen penises were saying something profound that I didn’t quite follow.

Lee

Vanity post, I’m afraid. If I could’ve been writing this on Friday evening, I would’ve had plenty to say, as I’m about to spend the day in London, sniffing all the latest scented whatnots and schlepping around for my other latest obsession – the spectacle of spectacles.

I’m terribly tired of my letterbox frames. Once upon a time these were new. Now they’re everywhere, including on Tea Party Palin. Time to move on.

I’ve decided to go for two pairs. The first – well, I’ve got em already. Here’s a rather naughty snap of me wearing em.

Yes, I am driving. It was slow traffic though. That isn’t a green blur out the rear window I can assure you.

I tried these on a couple of weeks ago. And liked them a lot. You know (if you wear glasses) that trying for new frames is hard work. First of all, I’m blind as a bat so only can get a vague impression of how I look in them. Second, most pairs make me shudder for some entirely unknown reason. I’ve got an oval face, which is supposedly just about right for most styles, but lots turn me into the monobrow king, the brain-fried nerd, the pervert who all the local kids have been warned about, or the ageing hipster. I don’t know which is worse. These puppies – well they just felt right. Slightly oversized, but not too much. Tortoiseshell. Simple really.

Tomorrow – Cutler and Gross. I remember going there a long time ago, when my disposable income seemed, well, a little less than it is now (I’m not exactly bling anyway, lemme tell you). I’ll see if anything rings my bell from their main and vintage ranges. And I’ll also be popping to Nicolai and the Haute Parfumerie in Harrods. Any sniffing recommendations that might have passed me by? Most things do these days. Please let me know what I simply must seek out, there or in Liberty or Les Senteurs.

Anyway, Cutler and Gross have stiff competition. I went to the best optometrist (how are they different to opticians, except for the route the word takes to its end?) in Cambridge (England, not Mass., darlings) which is 45 minutes away from my wee country abode. And I steered clear of these horny beauties to begin with because I thought, ‘Nope, they ain’t gonna work.’ But man, I loved em. They had all these gay German architect numbers everywhere, and some of em made me look like a pretty nice gay German architect (and so so light – featherweight – I think the brand was Mykita), but it was the pair next door by another company that held my attention. Horn rims. I never knew. But be honest. Am I self-deluding?

They’re, of course, the most £££ in the store. No surprises there. And they’re dark walnut in colour, not black. A bigger picture does them (though not me!) more justice. My pronounced chin is due to too much laughing from the wonderful assistant in the store – a woman who took my pic in profile too – mugshot style. I was of course being a little silly. The other photos. Well, in the light of post-exploratory reality, they ain’t no cop.

So honestly. Your thoughts. To horn rim, or not horn rim. That is the question.

And perfumes. Always perfumes, you people.

Lee

…this post was called ‘Today’ but the storm led to a power cut and I lost all my scribble.

… Trevor the carpenter finished the outside loo door. It replaced an old latch door and frame that had rotted from the bottom up. Now the outside loo, only used for as a local cat poo depository (they like the garden in winter when the perennials have died down and it’s more appealing than a litter tray), has a great door opening onto a pink palace. Sometime, I imagine in the mid-70s, the old woman who previously owned the house – one Miss Ambrose – painted said toilet in a fuchsia pink. Gloss. Dusted with age, the paint now peels from damp and years to revel crumbling plaster, mortar, and the previous paint – gloss bottle green. Mid-60s, I’ll warrant. I fancy myself a pair of chinos that colour – like walking around in a bottle of Ralph Lauren Polo.

… I was supposed to clean the house. My day off. What larks. Instead, I went and saw Inception. I was a little disappointed. No dream is that sequential, or logical. And Tom Hardy and Third Rock – two great actors – had very little to do. I wanted more character other than ‘let’s make them opposites’. And little emotional engagement. The Leo and wife story did little to hold me.

On the way home, I counted the corpses. This time of year the road kill is legion. I passed a badger, bloated to look more like a furry seal, and its sweet rich smell invaded the car through the air conditioning. It repulsed and fascinated.

I finally planted out the leeks that had been clumped in the ground and left to do their thing. Now, roots and leaves trimmed, they’re orderly. As winter arrives, some will turn purple grey in the cold. But enough of that. The grey is too briefly gone from our lives and winter had too much presence this year for me.

I made a salad from home grown produce – heirloom Black Krim tomatoes (the name may be different in the US, for PC reasons – I think it’s a Crimea reference, in case you’re wondering), cucumber, red onion (whose fire from the drought still lingers on my tongue, between my teeth – don’t kiss me darling), flat leaf parsely, garlic. Halloumi in a smoked paprika batter. Delicious.

The rain. Our drought finally broke. We were walking to the store for tea. We turned back. The small hill towards our house had a stream that skipped over drains and soaked our feet. My shorts clung to me and I felt fresh – for the first time in weeks. And then cold. We ran home. The drain was blocked – back out to clear the gunge which once allowed the gutter to overflow and water to work its way into our old boiler and kill it.

The power went, but the boiler was fine.

My bottle of Timbuktu arrived. I smell wonderful – if you like that smell.

And your yesterday?

Lee