Fefaminz

There used to be (yes yes, in my youth longtime-ago) these jokes in which Radio Yerevan answered all questions with "in principle yes, but. That describes salvia for me.

Is salvia an adorable, gentle herbal scent? Yes, but every now and then a citrus note reminiscent of a toilet stone comes out, which tears this beautiful herbal veil apart.

When I see salvia in colours, I see a pale green, transparent veil of reserved meadow herbs, sweetish, fresh, which are held in suspension by the slightly bitter mate note. This wafer-thin organza scarf with its light bluish-violet edges blows softly in the wind, one would like to wrap oneself in it and jump like a fairy across the meadow -

and then suddenly someone paints yellow citric acid stains on it with poster paint! At some point these ugly stains are gone again, the beautiful veil blows again - bang, the citrus stains are back. The whole interplay lasts a good 5/6 hours, but probably only my nose notices this, because the sillage is very close to the skin.

So back to Radio Yerevan: "Would salvia be a fragrance you would wear? - In principle, yes, but only without the toilet stone!"

Can anyone still remember the scene in the film "The Perfume" where something is wrapped in wax and grease to preserve its fragrance? ! Well, I think that was tried here to ver "duft "lichen.

Tilia starts furiously with beeswax, lime blossom honey and a whole avenue of lime blossoms, which on a hot summer evening shortly before fading give everything once again. Sweet, sultry, breathtaking.

Head note? What top note? I didn't get a top note.

I walk along this avenue, in the gardens next door the other flowers mentioned in the scent pyramid might have been found, alone, the beeswax and the lime blossoms preserved in it cover everything and everyone! After 8/9 hours of easygoing, casual conversation, fortunately only a memory of a walk under the lime trees remains, the struggle through the wax I have fortunately repressed, and the honey has indeed whitewashed the tonka-amber base which I did not appreciate so much.

Why didn't I think of Turandot's appreciated advice before with the feather and the spraying and spreading?!

...on any occasion, in any weather, at any time.

Yep, you get a cup like that with Thé Pour un Été. Well, not the creamy East Frisian or the strong Assam, nor the tart Matcha or the herbaceous green tea, and certainly not the cooling hot-sweet peppermint served in the desert - rather a lukewarm, aspartame-sweetened, thin Earl Grey, in whose pot a jasmine tea was previously sponged. And this cup is drunk on the side, a perceptible whiff of osmanthus blows over from the neighbouring property, it's not loud or glaring, it doesn't excite, it doesn't excite, but it's not annoying either. Cultivated boredom, which is sometimes so pleasant. Well, that's what this summer tea is for me.

It is not loud or flowery, but still sweet and persistent, it easily holds out for 6-7 h without changing too much. He remains quite close to my body, but is still perceptible for my seat neighbour in the conference

....a German Schangsonette sang at that time with orange-red Wallemane and raved about "growth and strength" and expressed her covered passion. Yep, I think he must have been wearing one of those scents.

This time I actually read the fragrance pyramid before and was looking forward to some nice fruits because of the heat outside. But either they melted in the sun before or they hid from me in the shade, at least there were no smells to be seen.

In my case, Cretus has started off like a masculine woodcutter, a lot of birch, lots of frankincense and a minimal idea of earthy patchouli. I see the growing man with the striking lumberjack shirt and sturdy shoes running right in front of me, freshly shaved, the cologne briefly poured over, wood shavings still in his beard - and this cliché man has no jasmine blossoms at all!

Of course, our friend took a shower before we met, so that the clean musk in the base prevents the oak moss from arousing too much passion. A hint of vanilla and ambergris at the end awakens the idea of a fluffy Norwegian sweater that our friend puts around his shoulders on the freezing date and then disappears into the woods with his Unimog.

Yes, the association monster struck again and the very last clichés came out of the moth box - but why not?! Why shouldn't today's Stadtmann also indulge his dreams and turn into Thor for 7 or 8b hours - at least in terms of smell!

Phew, the artificial flower that is hewn around my ears here (yes, I know, it was the nose that was just your......oh, I digress), makes even a flower lover like me gratefully reject the massive bouquet!

Tel Aviv begins furiously with all that flower stands around in the western scent organ. And so that even the last beloved would notice that the flower-giver would not be tainted by the size of the bouquet, the whole ensemble was pimped with lots of plastic flowers of supposedly tropical origin.

Brave as I am, the husband has already complimented me out of the living room, I resist the impulse to wash off the arm completely again and after about 2 hours I am rewarded with a beautiful flower scent, which I really like and which lasts an amazing 6 hours full.

Well, now I'm looking for a spare arm for the first few hours, after that I could take over again.