One of my favourite pasttimes is sampling perfumes. I smell as many new and old fragrances trying to guess all the ingredients.
I love the freedom of the imagination running wild as a scent transports you to remote lands and peoples.
Marrakesh street markets and secret midnight gardens.
Serge Lutens is the master of the scent palette conjuring up all kinds of emotions and sensory experiences.
A sniff of his exotic fragrances and you’re in Morocco, no Easyjet economy travelling with surcharges and overcrowding required.
Another sniff and you are bang in the middle of summer, jasmine climbing up sun-drenched white walls.
I inhale the luxurious scent of roses deeply and intently, trying to grasp this ancient perfume’s spell and mystery.
A fragrance called Cellophane is supposed to paint the image of a bunch of flowers just bought at the florist’s, the delicate scent carefully preserved inside a crinkly cellophane wrapping. My guess of strawberries wasn’t too far off: it contains mandarin for added freshness.
I adore perfume. When I grow old I want to leave this planet in a puff of perfumed smoke.