Tag Archives: Perfume

That inescapable Eureka moment…! The Perfumed Dandy’s Fragrant Forum

Today The Dandy wonders…

Just when do you come over all Archimedes?

By which of course one doesn’t mean when do you become an astronomer, mathematician, physicist, engineer and inventor of Classical Antiquity…

But, when does the penny drop?

At what moment do you decide that you simply must have a scent?

Are you a love at first sniff sort of person?

Do you deliberate, cogitate and consider before adding to your collection?

The Dandy wishes, as you may speculate… well… I’ll tell all, if you do!

Yours ever

The Perfumed Dandy.

The Perfumed Dandy

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Come into the garden… Diorama by Dior The Perfumed Dandy’s Scented Letter

She thought herself, quite correctly as it happened, to be too sophisticated for the shapeless, tasteless floral shifts that the other undergraduates wore.

Had she wanted to be dressed in curtain fabric, she reflected, she would have auditioned for that term’s amateur production of the “Sound of Music”.

And that was something she emphatically did not want to do.

No lonely goatherds or do re mi for her.

It would hardly be becoming of a proto intellectual.

So instead she set about assembling an altogether more academically inclined wardrobe. Sharp, slightly military lines in innumerable shades of grey, from ice off white through silver to dove and pewter then charcoal.

She even thought at one point of cutting her hair like the post war Princess Elizabeth, just out of volunteering as a motor mechanic in the great effort. Or perhaps Simone de Beauvoir would be a more appropriate starting point for style?

No, neither, after all she was broadly republican and decidedly unkeen on polo necks, plus black was a little too much even for her at the height of hippiedom.

Instead she settled on putting up her hair, which she kept shoulder length long, with pencils or chopsticks, depending on whether she felt more artistic or cosmopolitan that day.

The effect was electric: revealing her long slender neck, highlighting her serious, slightly Roman profile, creating a dramatic tension between the self-consciously fusty clothes and her natural, sensual demeanour.

It drove the men almost as wild as her inescapably articulate arguments did.

Whilst she annihilated them on American involvement in Vietnam, nuclear disarmament and the manmade catastrophe impending for the environment, they struggled to keep up and keep their minds off getting her into bed, and what might happen when, if, they ever did.

Not that she was disinclined to sex.

Quite the contrary, she was more than happy to be wooed by men who could be bothered to make the effort.

The best and most successful were the ones who stuck by the desperately out of date idea of proper dates, or ‘stepping out’ as she loved to tease them…

“Are you asking me to step out with you, James?”

She asked the most handsome and together of them, a neat, fair haired young man from a grammar school who wore tweed suits and had set his heart on a career at the Foreign Office.

Unfazed, in a way which she couldn’t help but feel boded well for his putative career, he replied

“Yes, I’d rather like to mark your dance card if I might.”

That he suggested something other than the obligatory rock concert, some cheap cider, a few spliffs and the customary uncomfortable carnal squeeze back at cramped student digs impressed her even more.

“Have you ever to been to Kew?” he asked.

“The Gardens?” she enquired.

A Londoner with a botanically-minded mother who loved to sketch from life, she had spent half her childhood lolling around the pagodas, taking shade beneath the cedar trees and studying oriental flowers up close.

She replied that she had “been many times” but “would love to go again” and she meant it, sincerely.

On the train from Waterloo they exchanged fire on post-Imperial guilt and the role of coercion in the creation of the true proletariat state.

Satisfyingly she found him her political polar opposite but intellectual equal.

He excited her mind and something altogether more atavistic within her.

He had extraordinarily long eyelashes she noticed.

They headed at once for the hothouses and the tropical flowers.

Orchids bored her, too “commodified”, “rich capitalists’ playthings” she hissed.

But jasmine, its scent here steely yet at once soft, vertiginous and sweaty in this immense glass enclosed humidity, was transfixing, mesmerizing.

The place itself seemed to perspire with the effort of keeping warm in the midst of an English Winter, of keeping alive the beautiful and out of place Plant World curiosities it housed.

And in the air, beneath the flowers’ fragile scents, the unavoidable smell of decay and rebirth could be detected.

She turned away from the delicate ylang ylang, looked toward him and saw tiny beads of moisture forming on his forehead, his bright blonde hair turning brown with damp at the collar.

“Let’s go and have some tea!”

She exclaimed brightly, before blushing at sounding so much like an Edwardian debutante, perhaps they really were ‘stepping out’ after all.

In the near empty refreshment room an elderly learned couple in the fashions of four decades ago and a group of unruly boys, a sixth form biology class without their teacher they speculated, were their only company.

They ate plum and seed cake and drank Earl Grey.

“Is this the point at which I offer to slip gin in your tea and propose we go and smoke marijuana in the arboretum?” He looked deadly serious for a moment then cracked a knowing smile.

“You’re not entirely unaware of the form then?” She kept her straight face a moment longer than he had, just long enough for him to fret that he had misjudged the situation.

Then in an excruciating attempt at a Southern Belle she said “You can keep your liquor mister, and your herbal cigarettes too, but I wouldn’t mind seeing me some great big trees”.

“Come along then Miss O’Hara, your plantation awaits.”

That he knew his Hollywood films and that she should feel relaxed enough to reveal she enjoyed such schlock too would perhaps have been that afternoon’s greatest surprise.

If, that is, what happened in an intemperate moment behind The Temperate House had not.

The reinterpretation ‘Les Creations de Monsieur Dior: Diorama’ by Dior is a defiantly adult floral.

It forgoes the over-prettiness and saccharine femininity of current fashion to offer a confident, sexual, alluring, high-minded and utterly irresistible scent.

It is a vision of cleverness, subtle chic and self-possession in olfactory motion.

It is also an homage to the work of the perfumery genius Edmond Roudnitska, though it is not by any means his original perfume of the same name.

The determining characteristic of this scent, and the theme it shares most emphatically with its namesake, is an unfussy, uncluttered, handsomeness.

This is a floral without any of the silly fuss.

Here Jasmine lives up to its epithet as the ‘king of notes’. It is assertive, powerful, muscular even.

A forceful intervention into the floral scheme by caraway with its carnal, almost bodily, connotations is extraordinarily effective.

The following slow segue into wonderfully woody off-key mellowness is sublime. The fragrant equivalent of a love song all in minor chords.

Jasmine, rose and ylang ylang blend into one and other and then the background, the spice continues whilst a herbal patchouli plays off a savoury early-picked plum before yielding up to a wintry cedar, softened and spiked in equal measure by what has gone before.

The greatest gift is that this transformation is played out in what, by today’s standards, seems like slow motion.

This perfume is therefore truly epic.

And worth every effort to track it down.

Really, The Dandy can see no objection to anyone wearing this savoury floral feast, though I can imagine that to many reared on the olfactory equivalent of high fructose corn syrup it would be deeply undelightful.

What a shame for them and all the better for us!

Yours ever

The Perfumed Dandy.

The Perfumed Dandy

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The last day of freedom… Jour d’Hermes by Hermes The Perfume Dandy’s Scent Today

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“Music is the space between the notes.”

So, they say, Claude Debussy said.

Scent is perhaps the art closest to music, sharing as it does the qualities of abstraction and the ephemeral.

The two forms existing as much, more, in fact, in the air and the senses than in the bottle or on the bow.

No perfume expresses this sentiment more precisely than Jean Claude Ellena’s Jour d’Hermes.

Weightless, amorphous, transparent, luminous and above all quite, quite beautiful.

Jour is a refined fragrance in the same sense that a passage of the finest poetry has the sensation of the best prose distilled.

Its sparseness is that of the poet’s words upon a page, the length and conclusion of each line the result of deliberation, the start and end of every stanza as concious an artistic act as a painter’s brush stroke pulled across canvas.

Poetry, perhaps, is the places between the words.

In a world where so much perfume is mere cheaply drawn literal prose: scents called ‘Candy’ that smell of sweets, endles gourmands that succeed only in smelling exactly like confectioners’ kitchens, Jour is writ in verse.

Jour is poetry.

Elusive, sly, metaphorical, mischievous and quite, quite beautiful.

The words, the ideas, the notes seem so simple: citric, floral, dry.

Lemon, lily of the valley, orange flower.

It is in their deployment that the artistry lies.

Some people have termed the perfume ’empty’, I find it to be expansive.

An uncontained scent large enough to accept one’s own interpretation.

A fragrance of freedom.

“Loneliness clarifies. Here silence stands
Like heat. Here leaves unnoticed thicken,
Hidden weeds flower, neglected waters quicken,
Luminously-peopled air ascends;
And past the poppies bluish neutral distance
Ends the land suddenly beyond a beach
Of shapes and shingle. Here is unfenced existence:
Facing the sun, untalkative, out of reach.”

from ‘Here’ by Philip Larkin

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Jour d’Hermes was The Dandy‘s final self-picked weekday scent for a while.

Tomorrow, after a Summer turned “Indian Summer” of laid-back liberty, The Hit Parade returns, and The Dandy will once more be your ever faithful servant, taking his scented commands from you… why not choose what perfume I will wear next and join in the vote.

Please be gentle with me…

Yours ever

The Perfumed Dandy.

The Perfumed Dandy

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The end of the affair… The House of Caron: A Retrospective The Perfumed Dandy’s Scented Letters

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Dear Friends

It is with a heavy heart that I write to say our month as visitors in The House of Caron has come to an end.

Never one to dwell on unhappiness though, The Dandy instead prefers to concentrate on jolly memories… a clutch of reviews, a few personal picks, a visit to a beautiful NYC boutique and a flick through the back catalogue of Caron’s advertising campaigns.

So that all these Caron ‘cuttings’ are not lost into the mists of time I have compiled this ‘scrap book’, which also serves by way of a series of links to all the Caron-related material in The Dandy’s archives.

Do scroll down and peruse my delights and if any perfume or piece of writing tempts, simply click on it and you will be taken to the object of your desire.

Happy hunting!

Narcisse Noir (1911)

Tabac Blond (1919)

Nuit de Noel (1922)

Bellodgia (1927)

En Avion (1932)

Fleurs de Rocaille (1934)

Poivre (1954)

Aimez Moi (1996)

Nocturnes (1981)

Montaigne (2007)

Parfum Sacre Intense (2010)

The Advertisements of House of Caron (from 1904)

Some Scented Picks…

Pour Un Homme (1934)

Muguet du Bonheur (1952)

Le 3e Homme (1985)

L’Anarchiste (2000)

And one outing…

The Caron Boutique, New York City (2013)

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The Dandy does hope that you’ve enjoyed our little soujourn at 34 Avenue Montaigne as much as I have…

And don’t forget there are a whole host of fragrances that I’ve not tried yet… get a feel for the range at the Caron website and if you feel any are deserving of my attention then Go on! Suggest a new scent or recommend an old one…

In the meantime though, charge your glasses, and raise them high as we say a toast…

“To Caron”

Yours ever

The Perfumed Dandy.

The Perfumed Dandy

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The Perfumed Dandy’s Surprise Scent… Private Collection by Estee Lauder 

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Memories are an odd thing aren’t they?

Even those of the happiest times can seem bitter sweet.

So it has been sorting through my snaps of Washington DC.

On reflection it seems a city almost haunted by the past, by lost hopes of optimistic futures and many, many lost lives.

Perhaps it was because I was there over the Memorial Weekend.

Memorial weekend in a Capital of Memorials.

More of that later.

But what perfume can encapsulate this sense of commemoration?

For The Dandy, nothing expresses remembrance better than Estee Lauder‘s contemplation in green chrysanthemum, Private Collection.

So the photograph above of some of the same reflective flowers with the scent on my bedroom windowsill seems just right.

Until later today.

Yours ever

The Perfumed Dandy.

The Perfumed Dandy

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Our Agent Returns… le 3e Homme de Caron The Perfumed Dandy’s Selected Sunday Scent

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Well My Dears

Your temporary man in America has returned home and to his writing desk.

I did miss you all terribly you know.

After a couple of days to clear the head and get my bearings, I am ready, just about, to go once more into the breach and recommence my adventures in the world of “women’s” perfume.

But before I do, I thought I would indulge myself with a little choice of my own and what better than…

le 3e Homme de Caron by Caron?

After all, what perfume could possibly be more appropriate for a traveler returned than this French masterpiece, inspired by a classic British film, directed by the illegitimate son of a Knight of the Realm and photographed by an Australian in ‘Dutch Angles, about an American writer in post war Austria all set to the unforgettable tune of an Hungarian zither player!

As if all of that were not enough, I read, after years of wearing this chypre-like delight, that some perfume writers consider it too ‘pretty’ for men… and wonder if any wear it!?!

Well to that there is an emphatic answer…. I am The Third Man!!!

Oh, gosh, all this voyage voyage has gone to my head… I am The Perfumed Dandy.

One last reason why I chose this Carol Reed-influenced Caron today is that The Dandy bought his latest stash a sensational little store on off Lexington Avenue, NYC whilst on his travels.

More about that anon… Indeed, this week will be full of American snaps, scents and reminiscences… and perhaps the odd review here and there to boot.

And London Town?

The skies may be grey, but the people and the place remain glorious.

The weather is humdrum, the life anything but and most importantly, it’s home.

It’s good to be back.

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Just one final thing… as all the best sleuths and spies are known to say…

In keeping with the mood of mystery that this magical fragrance and the classic piece of cinema that inspired it conjure…

I wonder if you might be able to solve The Dandy‘s own little perfumed puzzle and identify which London landmark ‘the third man’ was snapped outside this morning in my own humble photograph at the top of the page?

Your missing person returned.

Your very own Third Man.

Yours ever

The Perfumed Dandy.

The Perfumed Dandy

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The Gem Emerald… Norell by Norell The Perfumed Dandy’s Scented Letter 

She had turned him down the first three times he’d asked for her hand in marriage.

Indeed she often wondered why she changed her mind the fourth time he popped the question.

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Perhaps it was the bright sunshine that day, the sharp smell of freshly turned soil or the sparkling scent and sight of the hyacinths newly released from their nursery beds into the park proper.

Whatever it was that made her make it, it was a decision she refused to regret.

She’d known the proposal was coming around again: he’d asked before the previous Summer, then again at harvest festival and most recently on New Year’s Day.

There’d been a surprise when St Valentine’s had been and gone without any mention of them marrying and then she realised that he restricted himself to one request per season.

So, when he arrived that morning for a walk across to Kensington Gardens to ‘make the most of the first proper day of Spring’, she knew.

He was dressed even more smartly than was normal for him. He had a bright red carnation in his buttonhole, his skin shone from polishing and he smelt splendidly of his best lavender and mandarin cologne.

He was from glossy well combed hair to shining shoes every bit the contemporary approximation of the 1920s gentleman that he secretly wanted to be.

The Park felt much bigger that day than it had been all winter.

In the newly revived light of late April it seemed to be twice the size it was in February when they had scuttled to the Serpentine to watch the foolhardy folks skating as they sat huddled in the comfort of the tea pavilion.

The horizon now was further away and the manicured ‘wild meadows’ stretched out like a lifetime in front of them.

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They paused beneath a great conifer that had deceived as deciduous tree from a distance. The striking almost acid aroma of the needles pricked at their noses and he looked a little puzzled, as if the chalky green smell of the sap had unsettled him.

Then she knew that was the moment.

“Would you…”

Before he could complete the question she heard herself responding

Yes… but I won’t be giving up work. It is 1968, even though your family may carry on as though it’s still before the war. The Summer of love has been and gone and besides I am not a school teacher as they all think I am, though there would be nothing wrong with that, I am a professional sports coach and one day women’s tennis will be quite as important and lucrative as men’s.”

“You accept?”

“Conditionally.”

He kissed her still uncertain as to whether he might have been more careful what he’d wished for.

In the embrace she located a spicier undertone, there was coriander and cardamom in his saliva and his nervous sweat was salty with something of the sea and at the same time anointing oil about it.

She disentangled herself and held him at arms length, examining his face intently.

“You do know what you letting yourself in for, don’t you?”

He burst out laughing, then she did the same, then suddenly stopped.

“And I want an emerald engagement ring, I don’t care that everyone else has diamonds. Mine must be brightest green.”

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Having taken the precaution of not buying a ring for this very eventuality he was able to laugh with a genuine nonchalance.

They walked back to town in silence save for when he stole a bunch of daffodils from the banks of them which lined way and presented them to her with a flourish.

She called him a thief, and knew he had in fact stolen at least a part of her heart.

She had his completely.


Vintage Norell by Norell Corporation is a brilliant bright green emerald of a scent standing proud from the shoddy crystals, cut price cut glass and paste of so much of modern perfumery.

Like a true precious stone its sparkle deceives with apparent simplicity only to be revealed as a complex construction of a genuine master, or indeed mistress’s, art.

Its myriad facets all gleam with a lustre born of careful consideration, expert blending and pitch perfect polish.

From the moment of its entry with an unmatched high accord of citrus, lavender and galbanum as clear as a soprano’s top ‘c’, one is left in no doubt that this will be an unforgettable performance.

What follows is an immense floral choral heart, led by a blue hyacinth that is joined in time in a duet by a wonderfully green carnation.

A clutch of South Asian spice: cardamom, coriander and cinnamon add texture while vetiver, oakmoss and narcissus give the whole piece and earthy and robust structure.

This is no blow away scent, feeling never less than sturdy in all its built to last elegant magnificence.

Standing like a Crystal Palace worthy of Oz, this is a vast and awesomely beautiful fragrance that can and should be appreciated for miles around.

Norell is a heart stopper.

As soon as a certain gentleman is able to acquire a sizeable quantity of this he is sure it will become something of a somedays signature.

Why all women don’t do the same is quite beyond him.

Please note dear friends that The Dandy tried Norell as manufactured by the Norell Corporation.

There have been several versions since, each less good and then more bad than the last.

Do take care when selecting jewels.

Yours ever

The Perfumed Dandy.

The Perfumed Dandy

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Fields of Fragrance The Perfumed Dandy’s Outside Spring Scents Part I

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Dear Friends

As some of you may have seen, The Dandy had a dashed lovely day out in the Park yesterday, well The Gardens to be precise and Kensington Gardens at that.

Thank you all to those of you who suggested some scents that might go with my humble snaps.

Perhaps the wisest proposal was that such sublime scenes of nature required no man made smell to assist them. Too true.

However, The Dandy was ever one to throw caution to the wind and so this week he presents some 25 scents to go with those same scenes…

1. Daffodils

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Certain folks may be beginning to believe that one has an unhealthy obsession with Yardley, the English purveyors of faux soliflores such as the nearly disappeared Narcissus.

So be it, but when a rich, earthy, vibrant and very realistic scent such as this is available at such a good price I will continue to crow about it with glee.

To be true, this is a humble daffodil and no neo-classical narcissus: a bright bold, orange-hearted and handsome thing.

But my way of thinking this fragrance is made all the better for that!

2. Fountains

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Water perfumes are so often so desperately dull, speaking nothing of the sensational fun of the stuff itself.

One only has to ponder those endless lines of blue aquatics (especially those targeted at the gents) to become overcome with a sense of ennui.

And yet, when The Dandy, thinks of water and fountains in particular three things take his fancy: the Louis and their Versailles, the far from boring Borgias and their Villa d’Este and the British and their Gin and its Tonic.

So there’s my excuse for setting out a case for this decadent spritz of misspent summer afternoons in spray form.

Penhaligon’s Juniper Sling is a quinine soaked cocktail of a scent that is guaranteed to intoxicate with its irrepressibly mischievious insousiance.

3. Statue

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Perhaps a little the worse for wear on account of that Sling, The Dandy can’t help but imagine that this young thing is trying to catch a few rays to eradicate that “pale and interesting look” she’s sporting.

“Heresy!” I hear you cry to describe a sculpture such… well here’s another: not a serious scent at all but a “beauty product”.

Whilst obviously not a patch on its magnificent namesake, Guerlain’s Terracotta Sous le Vent is about as fabulously fragrant as a moisturising mist might ever hope to be.

The weather may not yet be warm enough to prends un bain de soleil, but if you feel like a glow all year round you could do worse than this perfumed water variously described as having a note of tiare flower, orange blossom and jasmine.

Light, airy and aerating this is an energising floral fillip for anyone struggling to shift change of season sluggishness and swing into Spring.

4. Tulips and Hyacinths

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A tough assignment this, for as many of you have pointed out a true hyacinth aroma is hard to find.

Tougher still is the tulip, though one of The Dandy‘s very most favoured flowers on account of its shapely appearance, it has a scent that is evasive to the point of non existent, though a few perfumers have attempted to capture the concept at least.

So what to do by way of solution? Why a bouquet of course!!

Whilst Floris Edwardian Bouquet may lead with jasmine, hyacinth is high in the mix and there’s even a little oakmoss to add a brisk and breezy edge.

All in all this wonderfully composed water is an elegantly restrained exercise in self-effacing English luxury, and a worthy addition to any Spring wardrobe.

5. Green Leaves

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“Why!?!” I hear you exclaim, “Norell by Norell could quite easily have been your hyacinth dear Dandy“.

And so it could… but for all its top note florals, almost no scent is as gregariously green as the original Norell.

To The Dandy, it is a sparking emerald among the jewels of perfumery.

However, I will not wax too lyrical at this time about the virtues of this galbanum-laden gem, for there is more to come very soon on this same scent…

So a first five fragrances to follow on from those photographs.

Twenty more to come ‘twixt now and Friday!!

If you’d like to take a peek, why not spend a moment perusing the complete album of The Perfumed Dandy’s Sunday In The Park.

Any additional suggestions would be gratefully received.

Yours ever

The Perfumed Dandy.

The Perfumed Dandy

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Sunday in the Park with… The Perfumed Dandy’s Scented Snaps

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Dearest Friends

So many of you wrote in to The Perfumed Dandy last week with a liking for my humble images of a weekend away, that I thought I would share my pictures of today’s perambulations around Fair London Town.

This morning the sun shone brightly and so so The Dandy did what dandies do and made for a promenade in the Park…

But which Park might this be?

And which fragrances would go best with which photographs?

All will be revealed over the course of the week ahead… but in the meantime The Dandy would love to hear your splendid suggestions!

1. Green Leaves

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2. Daffodils

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3. Fountains

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4. Statue

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5. Tulips and Hyacinths
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6. Swan

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7. Green Grass

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8. Folly

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9. Conifer

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10. Tea House

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11. Trunk and Tree

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12. Blossom and Children

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13. Orangery

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14. Palm

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15. Rosebuds

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16. White Narcissus

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17. Electric Green

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18. Topiary

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19. Round Pond

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20. More Leaves

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21. Memorial

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22. Magnolias

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23. Moss Bridge and Water

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24. Exotic Flowers

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25. Hollow and Water

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My Goodness, didn’t The Dandy get awfully snap happy?

So now he has to come up with 25 scents, five each day ‘twixt now and Friday, to go with those scenes…

Lordy! Any help by way of suggestions would be most appreciated dear brethren.

Until we meet again do enjoy whatever remains of the weekend.

Yours ever

The Perfumed Dandy.

The Perfumed Dandy

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Our Lady of the Knives Diorella by Dior The Perfumed Dandy’s Scented Letter 

Every artist has a shining sliver of ice lodged in their heart.

Every part of her is artist.

She, though, does not work with brushes or staves, instead with blades.

Knives as sharp and flexible as her clear soul cut infallibly through each pitch perfect ingredient preparing the meticulous meals she insists on serving outdoors once sunshine comes.

Sashimis, ceviches and carpaccios so fresh they deceive as clean flesh and not fish and fruit they are.

All served with lemon herb dressings on long oblong green glass platters, amongst plain vases filled with honeysuckle stems.

Her kitchen, open to the elements and curious eyes alike, is at the centre of a moss lawn.

She, in impeccable whites, is at its centre commanding circling sous chefs to: tweak starched table clothes, excite palettes with unexpected basil, rearrange tabletop arrangements of jasmine and red carnations, pass around cleansing melon millefeuille entr’acte.

If any apparent fracture in her composure appears, the fissure is mere momentary illusion, she huffs to her herbaceous borders simply to hasten patchouli plants into perfume and achieve aromatic perfection for her paying clientele.

The meal ends with a peach desert as peerless as the operatic dame soprano whose name it bears.

Our lady of the knives acknowledges her audience.

Taking a curtain call on her kitchen stage she is all curtsies clutching a bouquet of cutting edges.

Diorella by Dior is no chef d’oeuvre to be trifled with.

An exacting, precise, cerebral perfume it is not a work but an embodiment of art.

Taking the basic chypre recipe and deploying Occam’s razor all fat is removed, all excess skimmed off: only lean muscle, fresh peeled fruit and salient floral seasoning remain.

The bill of fare may be read as unremarkable: lemon, oakmoss, basil, bergamot, a melodius melon, a few greens, a soft peach and a sprig or two of patchouli.

Oh, and that heart rending honeysuckle.

But each part is of the highest quality and it is the genius of their deployment, not the pretensions of their provenance that, gives the dishes as served their unrivalled effect.

The courses run sparkling citrus, through green floral heart to fruit and soil conclusion flawlessly.

Everything because of a single genius.

There is no man or woman in the kitchen, merely the one in charge in whites.

Diorella is Chef.

The Perfumed Dandy is lucky enough to own an older version of Diorella. The current reconstruction is a different, happy lemon sort of a scent, though not entirely to be sniffed at.

Yours ever

The Perfumed Dandy.

The Perfumed Dandy

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