More perfumista path crossings...meeting Natalie of Another Perfume Blog

Source: Wikimedia Commons ~ Andy Jamieson

Natalie of Another Perfume Blog has been getting about a bit lately, popping up in various European countries where fellow fumeheads have availed themselves of the chance to meet her in person: Ines reports on their encounter in Croatia here, Tara hooked up with Natalie the day before me in London, and it is Asali's turn next in Copenhagen. And soon Natalie will be moving continents again, to somewhere as far flung as where she has just come from, so I count myself very lucky to have managed to catch her in person yesterday - in Nottingham of all places, which is just 60 miles east (and up a bit) of me.

Natalie, who knows the city well - having lived and studied there not so long ago - suggested a central location for our rendez-vous, to wit the steps of The Council House in Old Market Square.  On my arrival I sent her a text to explain that I was the same side as a funfair, in between two stone lions.  I was mindful of the pitfalls of 'multiple entrance syndrome', of which I once fell most spectacularly foul in Toronto.  I gaily offered to meet a colleague at The Bay department store, which boasts no fewer than eight doors across all four facades.  I ended up circling the building for a full 45 minutes looking out for a stranger of unknown physical description who was at least also looking for me...

Source: Wikimedia Commons ~ Andy Jamieson

Now I did have a pretty good idea of Natalie's appearance, gleaned from glimpses of her long curly hair in photos on APB, supplemented by dim recollections of an eyebrow tweezing video she posted there.  But even armed with these mental images, I was surprised to find not one but two women sitting on the steps of The Council House who looked broadly as I imagined Natalie to.  I discounted one of them because she was wearing hi-top baseball boots - an assumption that was wholly vindicated when the woman in question got up moments later and legged it. The second woman lingered a little longer, but her high-waisted spangly black jeggings didn't quite chime with my impression of Natalie's sartorial style either. ;-) And I was right again, for at that point the real Natalie hove into view, dressed in jeans and a white blouse, her luxuriant hair tied in a plait curvng round one shoulder.  I am pleased to report that she was sporting one of her scarves, in a mix of jewel colours of which purple was a principal component.  I think it is the penultimate one featured in that post, but will await confirmation from its owner!

We repaired without ado to a nearby branch of Caffe Nero, where we proceeded to catch up on the broad outlines of each other's lives.  From an early age Natalie appears to have ricocheted all over the place like a ball in a bagatelle; she seems well adjusted to her peripatetic lifestyle though - and I bet she is an ace at packing too! We discovered that our studies and current professions had a surprising bit of crossover, though the same cannot be said for our attitudes to exercise.  For wherever she is living, Natalie makes time for a regular and varied fitness regime, incorporating different dance styles, yoga and walking, whereas I have been known to toddle down to the corner shop if it isn't raining.

Source: Tripadvisor

Next up, Natalie took me on a walking tour of the city centre, pointing out buildings of interest and favourite hang outs from her student days.  At the first stirrings of hunger we headed for an Italian restaurant recommended by Natalie's friend, and were soon tucking into a couple of hearty pasta dishes.  At this point I must say what a good sport Natalie was, for at the start of the meal we had agreed to share our dishes. However, having lobbed an initial morsel of ravioli onto Natalie's plate, I promptly forgot about our deal and polished off the rest of my food myself.  Not only did Natalie politely overlook this aberrant behaviour, but she even invited me to minesweep her leftover cannelloni.

Source: beerintheevening.com

From the restaurant we adjourned to a pub called The Pitcher & Piano, which is housed in a former church.  It was a vast, cavernous and echoing space, and reminded me a bit of the gothic wine bar Freddie of Smellythoughts had taken me to in Birmingham.  At this point in the evening we finally got on to the subject of perfume(!), chewing the cud about the latest releases, our approaches to blogging, people in Perfume Land we would like to meet, as well as the seemingly endless differences between US and British English, which were a source of much hilarity.  'You say plugboard, I say power strip...'  (And I must mention here that Natalie has the prettiest and most infectious laugh I have ever heard!)  I had brought along some bottles from my vintage collection, and managed to comprehensively drench us both in Blue Grass from the 1970s. Natalie gave me a sample of Zelda by En Voyage Perfumes to try, and we bonded over our mutual appreciation of its fine magnolia note.

At about 10pm I reluctantly thought I had better make tracks - I had the drive back ahead of me, plus I hadn't clocked when the car park closed.  I gave Natalie a lift back to her digs on the university campus - well, once I finally found the car park where I had left my car, that is. ;-)  Oh, and once we found the correct building on the campus.  I tried programming my sat nav with various addresses and postcodes, but English Kate, the voice in the machine, was flummoxed by all of them, so we resorted to peering through serial gloomy expanses in a bid to discern Natalie's accommodation block, eventually coming up trumps.

Natalie, improvising with the menu in the absence of a large camera

With Natalie safely dropped off I had a clear run home, and when I got back to Stafford I was suddenly struck by the unreality of the day's events. I think this was because I expect to have to travel further than I just did to meet a perfumista who is herself from so far away - to London at the very least, if not mainlaind Europe indeed.  But the vial of Zelda is proof that I did in fact meet Natalie in Nottingham.  I wonder if I could pull this stunt off again, and rendez-vous with other perfumistas in places near me...for example Ines in Ingestre, Kafka in Keele, Asali in Aston, Suzanne in Sutton Coldfield and so on.  Now there's a challenge!

Bonkers Is Two This Week! (And Giving Away Two Samples of Bottega Veneta EDP)

Yes, a quick look at the archives reveals that Tuesday 25th was the second anniversary of Bonkers about Perfume. When I tentatively wrote my very first post here, I little thought that there would be another 262 along to join it.

I had toyed with the idea of writing some kind of thoughtful retrospective piece to mark the occasion, but when Tuesday came I was mad busy getting tax stuff together for my accountant and packing to come away to Switzerland for a few days, so that idea went out the window - for the moment at least. So here I am instead three days later, writing this from a Starbuck’s in Basel, one of those rare establishments offering a uniquely appealing combination of tea made to my exacting prescription (because they leave you to make it yourself, basically) and complimentary Internet access. Actually, I haven’t quite trained the staff here to leave room for milk, but that is a small point.

Come to think of it, I did celebrate my second anniversary – though it wasn’t planned that way – by buying another fridge for my perfumes. A suitable one came up on Ebay last week within easy pick up distance, and I knew I had to move fast. Before I left I just had time to spread my collection between the two fridges in a very loose “summer / winter” sort of a way, and there was an audible sight of relief (no, not just the new fridge whirring, really) from the bottles as they found themselves with room to breathe – and to flex their bows and ribbons where applicable.

I will also celebrate the two year mark by offering a sample of Bottega Veneta (which I reviewed the other week) to two readers drawn at random out of suitable receptacle. Their names, I mean, not the readers themselves. And you can live anywhere to be eligible! Just leave a comment (with the exception of those persistent spammers on whose annoying account I have had to bring back the captcha rigmarole) to be entered in the draw, which will close at noon GMT on Monday 31st. A comment about anything really – why you are keen to try Bottega Veneta, what you would like to see on Bonkers in the coming year, whether you still don’t mind my not being as overtly interactive as other bloggers (now there’s a mouthful!), whether you would like to see a thoughtful retrospective at some point, haha - anything really.

Coming up next - airport sniffing and meeting the Swiss perfumistas (again!)


Photo of Bottega Veneta advertisement from fragrantica.com, other photo my own

Lazy Sunday Open Poll Thread Question Thingy: Should Bonkers Be More Interactive? Noooo, Don’t Answer That….!?!

Right off the bat, I should say that the title of this post in no way sets out to make fun of the various forms of rubric by which other bloggers introduce an interactive post. Rather, by combining all the customary terms for such things in one strangely lumpen phrase, my aim is to emphasise the fact that posts which invite a reader response are in fact the norm, and I am out on a limb here for mostly eschewing them.

Thinking across the many blogs I enjoy reading, you’ve got Now Smell This with its Monday Mail to help find someone a perfume – it was commenting on one of those posts that led to my friendship with lovethescents, one of the search subjects back in 2008! And of course, Now Smell This also has its Lazy Open Threads and Quarterly Damage Polls about bottle purchases. Olfactoria has her Monday Question, Boisdejasmin recently conducted a poll on the most popular scents amongst perfumistas, while not so long ago Josephine invited readers to think up a comedy name for her nose, which was a lot of fun! (Daphne). And then more blogs than you can shake a stick at (myself included - see below!) also invite a comment on a specific aspect of a post to qualify for a prize draw.

And apart from all the above, there are the ad hoc questions lobbed in at the end of a post on anything, pretty much. Every blogger worth their salt does that. As a bit of a maverick, however, I tend to prefer more oddball lines of questioning to the perennial suspects about how you store your perfumes, or your top spring/summer/”cosy sweater” scents etc. This is not to say that these aren’t perfectly valid questions to which people’s answers might change from year to year, even if they feel a bit Groundhog Day to me.

And when it comes to this more “left field” style of questions, Katie Puckrik’s zany blog offers us rich pickings:

Fumies, what's your favorite "yacht perfume?"

Fumies, help "un homme fatal" out. Your best "beautiful and cruel" perfumes for the gent, if you please.

Fumies, what garbage dump perfume might we smell at Ms. Edwards' barbecue?

Now for the occasion of my 200th post, I did take the plunge and dip my toe in the interactive arena with a prize draw of my own – I was quite apprehensive about doing so, but the draw drew a good response in fact! But if my memory serves me, that was pretty much the lone exception to my general custom of merely talking to myself. ("Bonkers" by name, bonkers by nature, you might say....)

Right, time for the psychoanalysis bit – let’s hope Potiron, our resident fumehead-cum-shrink is reading this... - why do I not overtly invite readers to participate in posts on Bonkers? Is it because I am not interested in what people have to say?

(Don’t worry – those were both rhetorical questions!)

No, that's not it at all, indeed when readers comment of their own accord, they come up with all sorts of intriguing titbits on topics as diverse as their own Beau’s Lines, teeth and sinus cavities, to Scottish travel aspirations, wedding dress bra arrangements and thoughts on the brand extension strategy of a penknife company. I love all these comments, I do!!! I just can’t bring myself actively to solicit them in any shape or form (except for that 200th post, when I broke through, swallowed my reserve and connected with people in the conventional manner on such milestone occasions).

Hmm...the reason I think I feel shy about asking readers to participate on Bonkers is the exact same reason why, down the years, I have hardly ever had a dinner party, never mind a proper party party. I barely ask individual friends if they want to do things, but wait to be invited. Yes, I may appear a gregarious soul - and I am, when I get to where I am going - however, I am incredibly timid about making social overtures in the first place. The bottom line is that I am afraid that people will not want to come to my party or whatever, and will say no, or just fail to get back to me with an answer. You know, a touch of Groucho Marx club syndrome may be at work here. It is a defence mechanism to preempt disappointment, like taking a book with you along to a speed dating event.

So it’s official then – as far as blogging goes, I am a shrinking violet – “in and proud”. Only I am not proud, because clearly I am questioning my stance on the matter – it has prompted this post, after all. No, I am “in and indecisive", more like.

Okay, so I had got right to the end of this post, and was just looking for images to illustrate it, when I came upon an article on the subject of comments, which gave the following tips to bloggers to make their site a more friendly environment, and encourage readers to de-lurk. Here are the headings of note:

Invite comments (as discussed!)

Compel them to comment(!) (eg discuss Tiger Woods' philandering in a bid to draw your readers out - : - ) )

Reward your readers (that's the prize draw business)

Tried and tested subject (okay, well, we don't quite see eye to eye there, though I quite take the point, and it says here that it's also winner in SEO terms)

Reveal your soft underbelly (done?!)

Be nice! (I do hope so, and if not, someone usually pops up and bites me on the nose)

Sooooo….do people already feel there is an open invitation to comment on any post – or shoot the breeze in an off-topic way as the spirit moves them – or should Bonkers be more overtly interactive, posing specific questions of the reader? Eek! Did I just ask a question? Oh no, was that another one?? How many is that now?! Double eek!



Fascination Perfumery Part 2 up next…


Photo of shy girl from jjhelp.com, photo of comments label from rssapplied.com, photo of dog from socialbookmarkingsite.net, photo of Katie Puckrik Smells from wikio.com, photo of poll figures from dota-blog.com, photo of shrinking violet from cynthialeititch.blogspot.com, photo of poll form from blogtipz.com

Giles Coren - Boondocks-Basher And Dream Lunch Date

I enjoy reading Saturday's edition of The Times. I don't always read it on the Saturday it is published, mind. The carpet is carpeted with unread sections of The Times from several weeks ago. Mixed in with those are bits of the Guardian from the Saturday before last, when I got up too late to catch my preferred paper. And the purchase of today's edition of The Times merely adds to this stealthy accretion of half read newsprint. It wasn't always like this - but since I started writing my own blog and enjoying other people's, my consumption of papers and novels has plummeted. I foolishly asked Mr Bonkers yesterday to name my top three faults and, quick as a flash, he replied:

1. Spending too much time on the Internet
2. Spending too much time on the Internet
3. Spending too much time on the Internet

So, you know, I may have to review my allocation of leisure time at some point... But meanwhile back to our muttons, and an article by Giles Coren that I did find time to read last week. Giles Coren, son of the late Alan Coren, Punch contributor and Sage of Cricklewood, is very funny. He is possibly not quite as funny as my all-time funniest journalist, Caitlin Moran, who also writes for The Times, but he is pretty darn hilarious. However, his coruscating wit can be near the knuckle and below the belt, which is quite a feat if like me you usually keep your hands at keyboard height. And while he is doing all of that, he also manages to sail very close to the wind - so close indeed that he is actually in the wind, busily putting it up other people. Two of his most vitriolic hatchet jobs were the columns he wrote about skiers and dog owners. I would link to these articles if The Times hadn't taken it upon itself to erect a paywall.

And in last week's column there was a telling throwaway line - I'm paraphrasing here, as the paper went out with the recycling and I can't verify the exact wording - but the gist of it was that anyone with an ounce of intellectual credibility moves to the capital at their earliest opportunity. The rest of the country was dismissed as the "boondocks". I had not come across the term before, but it is clearly another term for "cultural desert". A cursory glance at Wikipedia bears this out:

"The term boondocks refers to a remote, usually brushy rural area, or to a remote city or town that is considered unsophisticated. The expression was introduced to English by American military personnel serving in the Philippines during the early years of the 20th century. It derives from the Tagalog word 'bundok', meaning 'mountain'. According to military historian Paul Kramer, the term had attached to it 'connotations of bewilderment and confusion', due to the guerrilla nature of the warfare in which the soldiers were engaged."

Now Caitlin Moran, my favourite Times journalist, is from Wolverhampton, and I feel sure that she would never trash most of the country in such a sweeping, "broad brushy rural" manner. And if my memory serves me, Janice Turner is from Rotherham and Carol Midgley from Burnley. They may all be living in London now of course, but I still don't think they would condone this boondocks jibe.

Now I will cut Giles Coren some slack, because he has just given his baby daughter the sensible name of Kitty, rather than Allegra or Cosima or Calliope, as you might expect from a non-boondocks dweller. And for any humorist - or perhaps any writer - being provocative comes with the territory. As Michael Cunningham, author of "The Hours", sums it up:

"A certain slightly cruel disregard for the feelings of living people is simply part of the package. I think a writer, if he's any good, is not an entirely benign entity in the world."

So, after my annoyance about the use of this derogatory term had subsided, I decided to roll with the punches and let it go. Sticks and stones and whatever. And anyway, I know that it is actually a smart move to live up north, as the cost of living is so much cheaper than in the capital. Why, you can buy a whole terrace for the price of a glass of Merlot in a trendy bar in Hoxton!

But somehow this flip aside in an otherwise entertaining column managed to fester away in my brain, causing it to scramble my synapses in surreally surprising ways. Then out popped the following dream, epically combining subjects as diverse as blogging, the Internet, mental health, immigration, the recently enlarged European Union, food storage, perfume, gastronomy, technology, marine life and disappointment. Why, Wikio's filing system would have a field day with it!

So....in this dream Giles Coren is a practising psychotherapist, and I have checked in for a session to counteract my blogging and general Internet habit. In the consulting room is a big table, and GC is sitting slap bang in the middle, like Alan Sugar in the The Apprentice, with some kind of sidekick/friend/adviser/"eyes and ears" next to him. Now I wasn't expecting a friend, I thought to myself, especially not one who was biblically bearded and kept sniggering as I outlined the reason for my visit. GC himself just smiled inscrutably all the while. And then I spotted another person in the room, sitting cross-legged on the floor at one end of the table. He was surrounded by uncut loaves of white bread and empty Tesco carrier bags, and I knew instinctively that he was from Lithuania, and that if he didn't put most of those loaves in a freezer sharpish, there would be a lot of wasted bread tomorrow.

I hadn't got far with my explanation of my Internet addiction when I decided to tackle GC about the boondocks comment. Whereupon he promptly apologised and offered to take me out to lunch. I brightened considerably at this prospect, for GC is also a noted restaurant critic with access to London's best tables, so I was clearly going to be in for some top scram.

Then the dream cut to one of those long, thin, ultra modern restaurants - a bit like a sushi bar but without the sushi. Though with fish, as it turned out. We were sitting at the bar on high stools, and at one point I leaned over to sniff GC's cologne, but he saw me coming and spun away in time. It was a very forward gesture on my part, I know, especially between therapist and patient, but we fumeheads are driven to sniff strangers with the same compulsion that drives dogs to sniff legs and lamp posts.

Then all of a sudden GC whipped out from his jacket pocket a pair of what looked like 3-D glasses, but they were in fact Blu-Ray glasses, so named because, with them on, you could look into an empty plastic laundry basket (which had mysteriously appeared at our feet at this point), and see an aquarium of fish. There may even have been rays in there, but GC was hogging the glasses. They were so cleverly designed, apparently, that the water didn't run out of the holes in the basket. And then the cat miaowed, wanting her breakfast, and I woke up.

So I never sorted out my Internet addiction. I never got to eat lunch. Hey, I never even saw the fish. I did, however, get an apology out of Giles Coren for the boondocks remark. A retraction in print might be too much to ask. "In your dreams", as they say...


UPDATE: On a whim, I sent the link to this post to the man himself, and today received a humorous reply. GC wasn't apologetic as such, but he wasn't angry with me either for bashing the boondocks-basher back. And if he had been angry, he would have had all sorts of coping strategies at the ready from his book on Anger Management. The gist of the email was that most of the journalists writing for The Times at the moment are from the regions, and he therefore feels the need to defend his beleaguered metropolitan corner: "I am the last of a dying breed".


Photo of Giles Coren from Treehugger.com, photo of Boondocks from thatgrapejuice.net, photo of the North/South divide and of a terrace from flickr.com, photo of a bar from purves-contracts.co.uk