Axiomatic
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Axiomatic
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Deconstruction
What is behind a green floral chypre, what can be so intriguingly disturbing?
The present composition is already malicious, elegant and quite striking, no confusion possible.
But would it only remain so.
It is the people and the constellations, which can tell more about a floral vetiver.
A few years ago, after believed erasure of plaguing memories, I stood sedated at the YSL booth.
There shone this alien capsule in blue, silver and black, the name and concentration naively printed in italics.
My hands shook and something constricted my throat.
I ignored the hint of a lady's scent, Kouros standing on the other side.
Like decades before, I defied the warning.
Hiss!
Daniela Andrier seemed to have implemented an age requirement in 2003, her version draws Jacques Polge's 1970 masterpiece FSK suitable.
Somewhat metallic the start is already, but far more gentle than originally intended.
It was these aldhyde, which should imprint itself at that time forever in my brain.
Today, unfortunately, they evaporate more quickly, have something concealed, as if, as is fashionable today, a scene had been subtly censored, perhaps blurred manipulated.
The further we imagine ourselves freer, the more regimenting the barriers, strange development.
The bouquet of flowers following the aldehydes is exquisitely put together. So balanced of white flowers, greenish roses, poisonous lily of the valley. Very fresh and moist thanks to the magnolia, put together as if à la minute and accompanied by an eerie greeting card of handmade paper.
Sure, the peach, together with the ylang, hands a warmer ticket to the auteur film. But once you have entered the cinema hall and taken a seat, the images will flicker greenish cool and more serious.
The star of the evening is a vetiver purified with hydrochloric acid. Immaculate, aristocratic green and with the best manners. The hydrogen cations extremely gently caress the fragrant smoking grass.
Following their chemical property, they wait for opposite pole partners. So they lurk diligently embedded between the flowers.
And they know about their decomposing power.
In the process, the environment is cleverly anesthetized. Without realizing it, the creamy base of oakmoss and sandalwood exudes a delicately comfortable foundation with this subtle clay glaze. You can let yourself fall, you are gently caught.
The sexual drive of matted musk drips well-dosed and tasty, made up with amber, stealthily on the leaves of grass.
An idea of spice, as if a flake of fleur de sel had been sprinkled on it. Just that exact pinch to make the palate buds kind.
The curtain will close elegantly. But for this, the base is simply too successful not to crave the next event. The tuning of the soapy woody, slightly tonka-sweet, will linger long as credits on the skin.
Great, not?
I award Ms. Andrier 9 points, the smooth 10 continues to earn Mr. Polge, his Rive Gauche is the unabridged version with director interview.
The first advertising of the fragrance came out in 1973, at that time I was still too small to understand. However, that was to change towards the end of the decade.
Here in the first clip, a stereotypical submissive wife is shown alongside her bossy husband. I just wonder which decade was meant by this, during my childhood I did not experience a single adult woman like that.
A few hisses further she is now liberated, munching smacking a cream cake and smokes thereby. High-caloric she strengthens herself with a milkshake. The mad one at the advertisement or the film is to always deliver a perfect figure thereby.
At the next table squats a man and offers her fire. How outrageously chauvinistic!
The potential scoundrel is fortunately pushed aside by her friends and ridiculed with relish.
Funny, I don't recall ever seeing a men's fragrance with roles reversed.
The other advertising clips of the 1980s were not to be surpassed in striking mediocrity.
Sometimes a yuppie couple in Paris quarrel and reconcile, sometimes a single woman/wife has almost missed to appear at the registry office for her flash wedding/divorce in time, the occasion remains open.
But the pinnacle of the hilarious is fending off two burglars in a luxurious apartment in Paris. Just wear a YSL costume without bra and blouse, quickly hiss Rive Gauche and already Mademoiselle/Madame has outdone Bruce Lee with karate chops. Sadly only that the violent reality with such burglaries always provides with gruesome, bloodstained reports in certain media for bulging cash registers.
Shuddering is not the fragrance, quite the opposite, he could, however, an ominous development of the 1970s fragrant underline, at least in my immediate environment.
The mother of a school friend wore the fragrance like a second skin.
And it was she who had written like no other the word self-realization on the flag.
Stupid only that her extras / children somehow did not fit cinematically to the scenery and clumsily longed for familial security.
Both extras/children are strapped to dignified cinema chairs, I can always leave the cinema hall early, disenchanted silent on the drive home and guard my secret spray site like a treasure.
Yvette, you most beautiful of all beauties, unrecognized muse of your never-known Helmut Newton, submissive yet overlooked prêt-à-porter icon of your guru Yves, best pupil of your deconstructivist teacher Jacques Derrida, besides mother of two children/statists.
Your pet name product of solidary friendly acclaim of your peer group, the cynics did not escape your buying behavior chez YSL.
The one extra/son led me to you still as a child.
My social standing never sounded so ironic to my ears.
But one thing I hold dear to you, taste and gesture were in your prosperous cradle.
Others will also use Rive Gauche, but never as memorable as you. You disappear from my memories.
Yvette, no one else sprayed in so exquisitely, so naturally smooth.
Your hand movements, as if rehearsed, paid homage to the cold metal cylinder like fragile porcelain.
Neck, cleavage, thighs.
Just there you always had to laugh sarcastically.
Until the beginning of the 1980s you will have achieved your intention, your contribution to the destruction of traditional conditions will bear fruit. But this world will become all the colder and more merciless.
Today I look at the current photo of my school friend. Amidst the aldehydes of my metal can, his eyes still look sad, rimmed with dark shadows.
I guess the dose was too strong for him.
Life on Mars by David Bowie says it all, facilitates my dressing of floral vetiver.
And something alien laces my throat again.
The present composition is already malicious, elegant and quite striking, no confusion possible.
But would it only remain so.
It is the people and the constellations, which can tell more about a floral vetiver.
A few years ago, after believed erasure of plaguing memories, I stood sedated at the YSL booth.
There shone this alien capsule in blue, silver and black, the name and concentration naively printed in italics.
My hands shook and something constricted my throat.
I ignored the hint of a lady's scent, Kouros standing on the other side.
Like decades before, I defied the warning.
Hiss!
Daniela Andrier seemed to have implemented an age requirement in 2003, her version draws Jacques Polge's 1970 masterpiece FSK suitable.
Somewhat metallic the start is already, but far more gentle than originally intended.
It was these aldhyde, which should imprint itself at that time forever in my brain.
Today, unfortunately, they evaporate more quickly, have something concealed, as if, as is fashionable today, a scene had been subtly censored, perhaps blurred manipulated.
The further we imagine ourselves freer, the more regimenting the barriers, strange development.
The bouquet of flowers following the aldehydes is exquisitely put together. So balanced of white flowers, greenish roses, poisonous lily of the valley. Very fresh and moist thanks to the magnolia, put together as if à la minute and accompanied by an eerie greeting card of handmade paper.
Sure, the peach, together with the ylang, hands a warmer ticket to the auteur film. But once you have entered the cinema hall and taken a seat, the images will flicker greenish cool and more serious.
The star of the evening is a vetiver purified with hydrochloric acid. Immaculate, aristocratic green and with the best manners. The hydrogen cations extremely gently caress the fragrant smoking grass.
Following their chemical property, they wait for opposite pole partners. So they lurk diligently embedded between the flowers.
And they know about their decomposing power.
In the process, the environment is cleverly anesthetized. Without realizing it, the creamy base of oakmoss and sandalwood exudes a delicately comfortable foundation with this subtle clay glaze. You can let yourself fall, you are gently caught.
The sexual drive of matted musk drips well-dosed and tasty, made up with amber, stealthily on the leaves of grass.
An idea of spice, as if a flake of fleur de sel had been sprinkled on it. Just that exact pinch to make the palate buds kind.
The curtain will close elegantly. But for this, the base is simply too successful not to crave the next event. The tuning of the soapy woody, slightly tonka-sweet, will linger long as credits on the skin.
Great, not?
I award Ms. Andrier 9 points, the smooth 10 continues to earn Mr. Polge, his Rive Gauche is the unabridged version with director interview.
The first advertising of the fragrance came out in 1973, at that time I was still too small to understand. However, that was to change towards the end of the decade.
Here in the first clip, a stereotypical submissive wife is shown alongside her bossy husband. I just wonder which decade was meant by this, during my childhood I did not experience a single adult woman like that.
A few hisses further she is now liberated, munching smacking a cream cake and smokes thereby. High-caloric she strengthens herself with a milkshake. The mad one at the advertisement or the film is to always deliver a perfect figure thereby.
At the next table squats a man and offers her fire. How outrageously chauvinistic!
The potential scoundrel is fortunately pushed aside by her friends and ridiculed with relish.
Funny, I don't recall ever seeing a men's fragrance with roles reversed.
The other advertising clips of the 1980s were not to be surpassed in striking mediocrity.
Sometimes a yuppie couple in Paris quarrel and reconcile, sometimes a single woman/wife has almost missed to appear at the registry office for her flash wedding/divorce in time, the occasion remains open.
But the pinnacle of the hilarious is fending off two burglars in a luxurious apartment in Paris. Just wear a YSL costume without bra and blouse, quickly hiss Rive Gauche and already Mademoiselle/Madame has outdone Bruce Lee with karate chops. Sadly only that the violent reality with such burglaries always provides with gruesome, bloodstained reports in certain media for bulging cash registers.
Shuddering is not the fragrance, quite the opposite, he could, however, an ominous development of the 1970s fragrant underline, at least in my immediate environment.
The mother of a school friend wore the fragrance like a second skin.
And it was she who had written like no other the word self-realization on the flag.
Stupid only that her extras / children somehow did not fit cinematically to the scenery and clumsily longed for familial security.
Both extras/children are strapped to dignified cinema chairs, I can always leave the cinema hall early, disenchanted silent on the drive home and guard my secret spray site like a treasure.
Yvette, you most beautiful of all beauties, unrecognized muse of your never-known Helmut Newton, submissive yet overlooked prêt-à-porter icon of your guru Yves, best pupil of your deconstructivist teacher Jacques Derrida, besides mother of two children/statists.
Your pet name product of solidary friendly acclaim of your peer group, the cynics did not escape your buying behavior chez YSL.
The one extra/son led me to you still as a child.
My social standing never sounded so ironic to my ears.
But one thing I hold dear to you, taste and gesture were in your prosperous cradle.
Others will also use Rive Gauche, but never as memorable as you. You disappear from my memories.
Yvette, no one else sprayed in so exquisitely, so naturally smooth.
Your hand movements, as if rehearsed, paid homage to the cold metal cylinder like fragile porcelain.
Neck, cleavage, thighs.
Just there you always had to laugh sarcastically.
Until the beginning of the 1980s you will have achieved your intention, your contribution to the destruction of traditional conditions will bear fruit. But this world will become all the colder and more merciless.
Today I look at the current photo of my school friend. Amidst the aldehydes of my metal can, his eyes still look sad, rimmed with dark shadows.
I guess the dose was too strong for him.
Life on Mars by David Bowie says it all, facilitates my dressing of floral vetiver.
And something alien laces my throat again.
46 Comments
Translated
Show original
Limbo
Tabac, ever since you started a wild line, it has diluted your reputation with me.
While I was still able to let a certain irony of a youngster on a skateboard with a 2000s hairstyle pass with "Tabac Wild Ride (Eau de Toilette) | Mäurer & Wirtz", I am losing my courage with your new addition.
But one thing at a time.
Desperately searching for your wild look, I had to visit not one, no, two branches of your regular drugstore to look for happiness elsewhere, disappointed, with empty hands in my pockets and a melancholy, slurping gait and slumped shoulders. Unfortunately, there was no empty tin can to be found on the sidewalk, otherwise I would have had something to console me while kicking frustration.
Finally, at the competition, somewhat hidden, I could feel your metallic blue.
Honestly? I looked around nervously. Not that my bridge-spoiled neighbors would happen to be at the LVMH stand next door, wishing I was L'Eau de Conformisme with condescending glances in denatured alcohol.
Hiss!
Um, director, where's the scent?
The alcohol evaporates very stealthily, it knocks very quietly.
Then, if you'll pardon the pun, it gets louder.
So, which yellow fruit with health-promoting enzymes is screaming "oops, here I come!"?
The listed grapefruit in shy, for example?
Or the evil pepper?
Hang on, I'm looking at the gummy bears right now.
Chew chew chew
Schmatz, it's not the old red ones.
Schmatz, delicious orange probably less so.
Schmatz, definitely not the boring yellows.
Smack...
Smack again...
Why only the colorless ones?
And I thought pineapple was yellow!
It would now be pointless to list all the fragrance references that already have this fruit in the top note, the joke with the comparisons is now really worn out.
Well, it gets creamier here.
Somehow, it conjures up a stereotypical image of a beach with coconut palms.
I'll put up the great song lyrics for the different age groups of your loyal consumers with long-distance addiction.
Great-grandpa:
... two oranges in his hair and bananas on his hips
rosita has been wearing today
with a coconut dress...
Grandpa:
... Aruba, Jamaica, ooh, I wanna take ya
Bermuda, Bahama, come on pretty mama
Key Largo, Montego
Baby why don't we go...
Daddy:
... a ella le gusta la gasolina
dame más gasolina
como le encanta la gasolina
lady más gasolina...
Son:
... I make the world as it is, as I like it
Coco on the skin. We are loud, a bit on it
I swing like Tarzan through the jungle
Get a papaya for breakfast...
Now we can compete in limbo dancing across the generations between torches, gentle waves and a horizontal pole above the sand
But wait, the tried and tested almondy Tonka also wants to swing along!
And she's in a great mood!
Her song:
With the lavender it gets really nice
because almond conjures up very neatly
past marzipan by a hair's breadth
the delicious chewing gum!
It started sweet, it stays sweet, it ends sweet.
In between, a traditional garden carnation peeps out and powders in a beautifully classic way.
But why only?
The collage just doesn't want to reveal itself to me.
Or does it?
Has Tabac Original become grumpy after all and has just summoned the house notary to change the will?
After all, the supporting woods are stable synthetic, so you can confidently sign them with a ballpoint pen.
End of the road, out of the mouse!
The fragrance disappears just as it came...
Dear Mäurer & Wirtz team, as an enthusiastic Tabac fan, I am left baffled here.
I can very well understand the need to adapt to fashions. It is extremely difficult to set a trend yourself.
But it would be nice to show a little more edge and maintain your signature style.
After all, your mainstay Tabac Original is already something of an intangible cultural asset!
Tabac Man was great, still is!
These treasures are not quoted, they are independent through and through.
Maybe have another look at the leathery aromatics?
Fruity sweet vanilla is slowly becoming a pain.
I am confident that I will be able to remain loyal to Tabac in the future.
Very sincerely
Your Axio
While I was still able to let a certain irony of a youngster on a skateboard with a 2000s hairstyle pass with "Tabac Wild Ride (Eau de Toilette) | Mäurer & Wirtz", I am losing my courage with your new addition.
But one thing at a time.
Desperately searching for your wild look, I had to visit not one, no, two branches of your regular drugstore to look for happiness elsewhere, disappointed, with empty hands in my pockets and a melancholy, slurping gait and slumped shoulders. Unfortunately, there was no empty tin can to be found on the sidewalk, otherwise I would have had something to console me while kicking frustration.
Finally, at the competition, somewhat hidden, I could feel your metallic blue.
Honestly? I looked around nervously. Not that my bridge-spoiled neighbors would happen to be at the LVMH stand next door, wishing I was L'Eau de Conformisme with condescending glances in denatured alcohol.
Hiss!
Um, director, where's the scent?
The alcohol evaporates very stealthily, it knocks very quietly.
Then, if you'll pardon the pun, it gets louder.
So, which yellow fruit with health-promoting enzymes is screaming "oops, here I come!"?
The listed grapefruit in shy, for example?
Or the evil pepper?
Hang on, I'm looking at the gummy bears right now.
Chew chew chew
Schmatz, it's not the old red ones.
Schmatz, delicious orange probably less so.
Schmatz, definitely not the boring yellows.
Smack...
Smack again...
Why only the colorless ones?
And I thought pineapple was yellow!
It would now be pointless to list all the fragrance references that already have this fruit in the top note, the joke with the comparisons is now really worn out.
Well, it gets creamier here.
Somehow, it conjures up a stereotypical image of a beach with coconut palms.
I'll put up the great song lyrics for the different age groups of your loyal consumers with long-distance addiction.
Great-grandpa:
... two oranges in his hair and bananas on his hips
rosita has been wearing today
with a coconut dress...
Grandpa:
... Aruba, Jamaica, ooh, I wanna take ya
Bermuda, Bahama, come on pretty mama
Key Largo, Montego
Baby why don't we go...
Daddy:
... a ella le gusta la gasolina
dame más gasolina
como le encanta la gasolina
lady más gasolina...
Son:
... I make the world as it is, as I like it
Coco on the skin. We are loud, a bit on it
I swing like Tarzan through the jungle
Get a papaya for breakfast...
Now we can compete in limbo dancing across the generations between torches, gentle waves and a horizontal pole above the sand
But wait, the tried and tested almondy Tonka also wants to swing along!
And she's in a great mood!
Her song:
With the lavender it gets really nice
because almond conjures up very neatly
past marzipan by a hair's breadth
the delicious chewing gum!
It started sweet, it stays sweet, it ends sweet.
In between, a traditional garden carnation peeps out and powders in a beautifully classic way.
But why only?
The collage just doesn't want to reveal itself to me.
Or does it?
Has Tabac Original become grumpy after all and has just summoned the house notary to change the will?
After all, the supporting woods are stable synthetic, so you can confidently sign them with a ballpoint pen.
End of the road, out of the mouse!
The fragrance disappears just as it came...
Dear Mäurer & Wirtz team, as an enthusiastic Tabac fan, I am left baffled here.
I can very well understand the need to adapt to fashions. It is extremely difficult to set a trend yourself.
But it would be nice to show a little more edge and maintain your signature style.
After all, your mainstay Tabac Original is already something of an intangible cultural asset!
Tabac Man was great, still is!
These treasures are not quoted, they are independent through and through.
Maybe have another look at the leathery aromatics?
Fruity sweet vanilla is slowly becoming a pain.
I am confident that I will be able to remain loyal to Tabac in the future.
Very sincerely
Your Axio
28 Comments
Translated
Show original
Tea time with attitude
Jersey, a bone of contention between Great Britain and French-Britain.
Due to its location on the mild Gulf Stream of the English Channel, it is atypically sunny here, lush vegetation thrives magnificently and light-shy tax rates are kept low.
The fragrance of the same name is also a bone of contention. One person's elation is another's mediocre listlessness.
The former dislikes criticism.
Justified, certainly.
But the anonymous uses the discreet silencing of disturbing fragrance sensations, so that only songs of praise of green synthetics characterize the picture.
Well, true Bretons are considered to be rebellious and sometimes defend their point of view unceremoniously.
I'd rather fortify myself with a tasty Far Breton to put the balmy breeze of the Channel Island in perspective.
Les Exclusifs by Chanel were real eye-catchers in the original EdT versions from 2007, Jersey was added in 2011.
For whatever reason, the displaced EdP version had to take over the island from 2016 onwards.
Enough of the prehistory, tea is served!
Hiss!
Boy, it's getting deep green here.
Jersey isn't just for burials at sea either, landlubbers can also find their final resting place amidst "ivy".
Well, the living can play hide and seek in the boxwood maze, or rather creep each other out in the tuja maze.
Like father, like son.
Polge Junior colors Scotland's capital similarly morbid green. however, "Paris - Édimbourg | Chanel" is consistently thematic, while Papa Polge is building a Victorian theme park on the Channel Island.
As soon as the green note gently whispers in my ear that I should order my coffin in advance, a lively lavender comes along and slaps me awake from my morbid sleep.
Waddle, waddle!
Together with the jasmine, the two flowers exude a rigid attitude that makes even concrete walls seem as soft as butter.
Goodness gracious, the island is not directly under the crown for nothing!
So, let's tease the tea drinkers: in the Dépendance de la Couronne, you should go down deep into the cellar to laugh. Preferably without a lamp and with enough bile so as not to disturb the moral isopods.
What kind of chord is that?
Between the acidic death green, the rigid lavender in the tradition of a Yardley house and the Rottweiler jasmine, your own breathing almost sounds like a bomb in the catacomb!
Best to keep quiet, because even the slightest clink of the china cup could bring down the Wegdwood dynasty!
So, insularly, of course, something sweet is served in the oh so joyful tea round.
Just don't make any barbaric hand movements, the funny rose in the vase could look even weirder!
You shouldn't wake sleeping dogs...
A brief reminder of the Far Breton, which served as the model for the English Plum Pudding.
And something like this Anglican is now served, but with a tonka bean filling instead of plum.
The oh-so-refreshingly delicious something should be choked down stoically, but with class.
The first lavender bead of sweat rolls down your temple.
Plop, Boppesbombe in the middle of the teacup!
(I know, you're probably not allowed to say ass, so a softer expression with local color.)
The milk curdles instantly, but you shouldn't let on.
The rose in the vase has of course not missed the faux pas and is getting really funny, the twisted look doesn't bode well.
So a quick After Eight in the noblewoman's mouth, the chocolate mint should save the mood for a few moments.
(Chocolate patchouli with a little menthol should also be used here.)
It is not appropriate to address inappropriate topics.
Pleasant remarks about the neatly trimmed lawn, praising the indentation of an Oscar Wilde in his day, the pleasurable dissection of failed dress codes on the last Sunday in church are permitted.
And now the true Victorian proves himself!
Because keeping your composure and wit in the face of all these thumbscrews is nothing short of a miracle!
A synthetic, dark note throbs very gently from the base, slightly woody and ambery for those in the know. But only a hint of it.
Pretext enough to say goodbye in good time.
But, oh what a miracle, a drizzle of vanilla will accompany the tormented guest over hill and dale.
And while they smile ironically in Jersey, the Bretons on the other side of the Channel enjoy very tasty moments.
So long Jersey!
Before I forget, I recommend the life-affirming song by Morrissey "Everyday is like Sunday" to musically illustrate the scent of the island's coastline.
Enjoy!
Due to its location on the mild Gulf Stream of the English Channel, it is atypically sunny here, lush vegetation thrives magnificently and light-shy tax rates are kept low.
The fragrance of the same name is also a bone of contention. One person's elation is another's mediocre listlessness.
The former dislikes criticism.
Justified, certainly.
But the anonymous uses the discreet silencing of disturbing fragrance sensations, so that only songs of praise of green synthetics characterize the picture.
Well, true Bretons are considered to be rebellious and sometimes defend their point of view unceremoniously.
I'd rather fortify myself with a tasty Far Breton to put the balmy breeze of the Channel Island in perspective.
Les Exclusifs by Chanel were real eye-catchers in the original EdT versions from 2007, Jersey was added in 2011.
For whatever reason, the displaced EdP version had to take over the island from 2016 onwards.
Enough of the prehistory, tea is served!
Hiss!
Boy, it's getting deep green here.
Jersey isn't just for burials at sea either, landlubbers can also find their final resting place amidst "ivy".
Well, the living can play hide and seek in the boxwood maze, or rather creep each other out in the tuja maze.
Like father, like son.
Polge Junior colors Scotland's capital similarly morbid green. however, "Paris - Édimbourg | Chanel" is consistently thematic, while Papa Polge is building a Victorian theme park on the Channel Island.
As soon as the green note gently whispers in my ear that I should order my coffin in advance, a lively lavender comes along and slaps me awake from my morbid sleep.
Waddle, waddle!
Together with the jasmine, the two flowers exude a rigid attitude that makes even concrete walls seem as soft as butter.
Goodness gracious, the island is not directly under the crown for nothing!
So, let's tease the tea drinkers: in the Dépendance de la Couronne, you should go down deep into the cellar to laugh. Preferably without a lamp and with enough bile so as not to disturb the moral isopods.
What kind of chord is that?
Between the acidic death green, the rigid lavender in the tradition of a Yardley house and the Rottweiler jasmine, your own breathing almost sounds like a bomb in the catacomb!
Best to keep quiet, because even the slightest clink of the china cup could bring down the Wegdwood dynasty!
So, insularly, of course, something sweet is served in the oh so joyful tea round.
Just don't make any barbaric hand movements, the funny rose in the vase could look even weirder!
You shouldn't wake sleeping dogs...
A brief reminder of the Far Breton, which served as the model for the English Plum Pudding.
And something like this Anglican is now served, but with a tonka bean filling instead of plum.
The oh-so-refreshingly delicious something should be choked down stoically, but with class.
The first lavender bead of sweat rolls down your temple.
Plop, Boppesbombe in the middle of the teacup!
(I know, you're probably not allowed to say ass, so a softer expression with local color.)
The milk curdles instantly, but you shouldn't let on.
The rose in the vase has of course not missed the faux pas and is getting really funny, the twisted look doesn't bode well.
So a quick After Eight in the noblewoman's mouth, the chocolate mint should save the mood for a few moments.
(Chocolate patchouli with a little menthol should also be used here.)
It is not appropriate to address inappropriate topics.
Pleasant remarks about the neatly trimmed lawn, praising the indentation of an Oscar Wilde in his day, the pleasurable dissection of failed dress codes on the last Sunday in church are permitted.
And now the true Victorian proves himself!
Because keeping your composure and wit in the face of all these thumbscrews is nothing short of a miracle!
A synthetic, dark note throbs very gently from the base, slightly woody and ambery for those in the know. But only a hint of it.
Pretext enough to say goodbye in good time.
But, oh what a miracle, a drizzle of vanilla will accompany the tormented guest over hill and dale.
And while they smile ironically in Jersey, the Bretons on the other side of the Channel enjoy very tasty moments.
So long Jersey!
Before I forget, I recommend the life-affirming song by Morrissey "Everyday is like Sunday" to musically illustrate the scent of the island's coastline.
Enjoy!
22 Comments
