Come rain, shine, or anything in between: Miller Harris La Pluie review

I am afraid it has been another funny week or two: I am still beset with delays and problems on my renovations, due mainly to an unhappy mixture of incommunicado and astronomically priced tradesmen. On top of that I had a ten day-long cold with a side of exhaustion and headaches, topped off with an odd house guest and a doomed insurance claim, the very thought of which makes my blood run - not cold exactly, as it is unseasonably warm outside - but cooler than whatever temperature blood tends to be as a rule.

Perfume-wise it has been a strange old time as well. Initially I was so distracted that I forgot to put any on, but then something happened: I unthinkingly sprayed on Miller Harris La Pluie one morning, as a sample vial just came to hand in a sponge bag, and found myself reaching for it day after day, as though on autopilot. I don't believe I have ever worn a single perfume on so many consecutive occasions - it is most unlike what my conscious self would do, or even approve of. But La Pluie has been hitting the spot, so I have stuck with it.

Ironically, though I have had this sample for ages, I have consistently passed over it up till now. La Pluie hadn't really registered or imposed itself on my nostrils or memory. I remember it as inoffensive and nondescript, and it certainly is the former, however I now think that it does have quite a bit going on in a quiet, companionable way. And that is just the kind of perfume I am drawn to at the moment, something gentle, soothing and supportive, like the way Truffle was during the worst of my cold, snuggled under the covers with her head lying facing me on my outstretched arm, and her paws resting empathetically on my neck. Truly a laying on of paws, if such a thing exists, and most therapeutic at the time. It was only when I started to get up and display signs of normal behaviour that Truffle decided she could dispense with her 'under covers' vigil and go outside. So La Pluie is, if you will, the scented equivalent of a consoling cat. In short it is ideal for when it rains, when it pours(!), when it drizzles, and for bizarre episodes of Indian summer weather as we have today.

Notes: tangerine, lavender, 'wet' white flowers, ylang-ylang, vetiver, bourbon vanilla

So how does La Pluie smell? Well, in the opening I do just about get a fresh and dewy bouquet of those white flowers (don't ask me what, obviously). I am a little reminded of Annick Goutal's Un Matin d'Orage, which has a similar damp floral effect. But there is a weightiness to the composition of La Pluie even at this early stage, and a powdery note almost immediately creeps in, never to leave. As the scent develops, the powder at times seems 'granular', and I don't think I am hallucinating (thought given my recent illness, the possibility cannot be excluded) and the scent takes on a wet pavement kind of facet.

Also, the lavender is always in the background, but not in an overt, identifiable way so much as a kind of herbal counterpoint to the floral / orangey aspects. I don't generally like lavender as a note in perfume, which is testament to how subtle and well blended it is here. There's a soupcon of spice too, rather like Tom Ford Private Blend Shanghai Lily, but a million times more muted (and I love Shanghai Lily). Pepper? Clove? Carnation? No idea. And then over time La Pluie gradually fades away to an almost indescribable powdery, yet faintly tangy murmur. (That'll doubtless be some combo of the tangerine and ylang-ylang, a note of which I am inordinately fond.) There isn't any dankness to this rain-themed scent - and over its whole trajectory there is far more powder than moisture to be fair - and no hint of earthiness or petrichor. The powderiness could perhaps be likened to the faintest of light drizzles falling tinglingly on your skin, and there is that brief and possibly chimerical pavement interlude, as I say.

But rain is really not what I would have thought of on my repeated wearings of La Pluie, had it not been suggested by the perfume's name. Hence why my chosen photos show La Pluie in various sunlit spots round the house. ;) I am not sure I even agree with the description of the perfume on the sample box as: "A story of tropical showers and the balmy climate of a faraway island". Except perhaps by way of fleeting glimpses, but these are always wreathed in powder. Un Matin d'Orage comes much closer to that 'unalloyed damp flowers' visualisation.

So there you have it...by no means a showstopper, and not necessarily even that memorable, though after my marathon wearing of La Pluie I for one will definitely remember it. But exactly the undemanding, comforting hum that you look for from a scent when it seems that all around you are losing their heads, and you reckon yours can't be far behind.

Now onto a regime of 'on the bed' care

'La vie est belle': thoughts on 'Lancôming' home to Limousin, and a curious confluence of perfume and porcelain - Part 2

It is to Birmingham airport's credit that the whole of Part 1 of this post ended up being dedicated to my wanderings in its duty free section, but the time has come to move on to the visit to France itself, which took a surprising number of unexpected fragrant turns. Though not before I report on my unlikely baby epiphany on the plane! Yes, longtime readers may be aware that - possibly thanks to my travelling status as 'single woman of a certain age who if she doesn't already have children must surely want them' - the seat planning alogrithm of all the budget airlines never fails to randomly assign me a seat beside an infant. Beside or in the row in front or behind, say. Very definitely within proximity and earshot of its inevitable sustained bouts of wailing during the flight. Now I have a certain amount of sympathy for the babies in question: I was young once, and I understand the thing about engine noise and ear pressure - it must be quite scary for them.  But I really don't think it is fair that I should attract babies like iron filings on every flight. Sometimes also a young child who delights in kicking the back of my seat while keeping up a stream of aviation-related 'Why?' questions.

And on the way out to Limoges, not only was there a baby on its mother's lap on the seat next to me, but a bonus baby across the aisle and one row back. I was in for some serious stereo grizzling, I thought. But then two things happened to make me completely revise my opinion on the matter. Firstly, as its mother came down the aisle and spied the seat they had been allocated, she immediately exclaimed: 'Oh, I am sooooo sorry!', which predisposed me to like her from the off. Why, the baby in her arms had yet to emit a sound!, and thanks to the mother's cunning plan of breastfeeding her (for she turned out to be a four month old girl, and to have the exact same name (and middle name!) of the friend I was visiting) for much of the flight, she was as good as gold, quietly feeding until she eventually dozed off, A model baby, no question. There were adults on the plane with loud voices, complicated drinks orders and no small change who were considerably more annoying. Moreover, it turned out that the baby's mother and I had a ton of things in common in addition to the spooky coincidence of the baby's name: we had both worked in waste management(!) and for part of Unigate, and we both had a close relative who had undergone the same cutting edge medical procedure.

Sightseeing on the 'Route des Noix'

So between the well stocked duty free perfume section at the Brum end, and having my faith in babies - or specific babies and their mothers - restored, that was a jolly good start to the holiday you could say. My friend L was waiting in Arrivals at Limoges' Lilliputian airport (which is a rare treat for me), and we drove back to her village, just over an hour away by car. I immediately fell in love with L's mid-18th century stone townhouse and en suite barn(!). The previous owners, two elderly sisters, had died some time ago and the house was sold with a number of their beautiful pieces of furniture thrown in.

To kick off the scented aspects of this report, check out L's dressing table in her bathroom, with its artistically arranged perfume bottles and jewellery. (Yes, I know the photo is quite small.) On a side note, L wishes she had bought the new rose scent from Acqua Nobile, the Iris one being a blind buy, and famously not very iris-like. Iris Nobile was one of the first three niche scent purchases I made - all in the space of one impulsive day in Paris in 2008 - and I too lived to regret it. And offload it.

And then there was the piano, with its amazing smell of incense-impregnated wood. Perhaps it had lived some of its life in a church, I don't know. I closed my eyes and pressed my nose to the gleaming curved cover. You could so easily fancy that the meditative scent it yielded was some high end release by Armai Privé. Suggestions of names welcomed!

Then my bed - a cunning improvisation of two inflatable mattresses stacked on top of each other - was the most comfortable one I have lain on in a long time, and even though I am noted for not liking lavender in perfumes, I was touched to find a sprig in a little organza bag on my pillow. I don't seem to mind the stuff in nature, plus I was predisposed to like everything about L's quirky and venerable house: the hydrangeas in milk churns, the toilet rolls in plant pots, the beautiful silver name plate on the boiler.

Oh, and this account would not be complete without a special mention of the orange blossom-scented gentle shower gel in my bathroom, from the brand Le Petit Marseillais. Despite its cheap and cheerful packaging, it smelt decidedly high end and felt benign on my increasingly jumpy skin (of which more in another post).

The next significant crossing of paths with perfume on this trip was on our way back to Limoges the next day, to visit the Bernardaud Foundation, Bernardaud being a brand that is synonymous in France with very upmarket porcelain - the kind that ends up as a bespoke dinner service in a luxury hotel such as Claridge's, for example. L's friend S, a long time resident of the village and a ceramicist herself, came along with us for the day, and I was immediately struck by how pretty her perfume was, and how well it suited her. It turns out that S was wearing La Vie est Belle by Lancôme, which I would never have placed, and may never have smelt, or only hurriedly in an airport somewhere.

Source: Boots.com

Jessica of Now Smell This describes La Vie est Belle as a 'gracefully composed' and 'very wearable' 'fleurmand', describing its drydown as 'a polished and long-lasting harmony of cocoa and soft patchouli and white floral notes'. It has vanilla too, I see, which always tends to reel me in. I will definitely have a spritz of this the next time I am in Boots.

The Foundation visit had two memorable perfumed aspects, in addition to felicitous wisps here and there of S's sillage: the Bernardaud house line of scented candles, which I sniffed in the gift shop - all were well done with delicate and subtle fragrances - there was even a candle that made a very good fist of capturing the scent of porcelain!

So there was that, and then - most startlingly - there was a further perfumed twist to some artefacts in an exhibition of contemporary Korean ceramics, with which our visit happened to coincide. For we stumbled across a series of vases that were made from soap and varnish - and perfume. Whoever would have thought that it might be a good idea to make a vase from soap? The scent of each was quite pronounced - we had to stand on tiptoe to smell inside some of the works on display, though a few were too tall even so!

Another surprise scented object was a walnut windfall, a number of which we came across while walking through an orchard on the second day of the trip. About the size of a green plum, with a leathery aspect and incipient wrinkles, I can confirm that a walnut pod smells oddly herbal, like sage maybe?

And the final perfumed aspect to the trip - for in case you were wondering, there was no duty free at Limoges airport, or even a cafe for that matter! - was a chance encounter in the local 'brocante' (secondhand shop) with a number of retro perfumes: several colognes specific to local French pharmacies, and one or two other curiosities, including a violet perfume from Toulouse.

I didn't buy any perfume, though I did pick up a kitten saucer, a French missal from 1920, and an antique print of a collection of eggs. I could have come away with a stuffed owl or squirrel, but resisted.

However, what I may be less able to resist is the lure of France itself, specifically the area where my friend lives. Okay, the very village. The sense of wellbeing I felt while out there bordered on the transcendental: the gentle pace of life, the simple pleasures of bread and cheese and paté eaten outside on a warm summer's evening...the comforting solidity of the house also felt nurturing, as did the charming selection of vintage tableware and glasses the two sisters had left behind.

As it happens, I collect mugs and egg cups and crockery generally, in addition to being bonkers about perfume...and knitting, and cats. Yep, I love porcelain and bone china and earthenware - and with a bit of time could come to appreciate vases made of soap. And I live within spitting distance of The Potteries, Limoges's opposite number in Staffordshire. So downsizing and retiring one day to France, where houses can still be picked up for a relative song, is only a twinkle in my eye at the moment, but it is one that I think is set to grow...

Truffle, guarding her walnut

(Bristol) Temple (Mead)s to Bath Spa(s): aroma M Geisha Vanilla Hinoki review

Source: Wikipedia

Okay, so the title of this post is a shamelessly contrived punfest involving two railway stations in the West Country. And though the journey between these stops is going in quite the wrong direction, it does at least nod towards the inspiration behind this latest release from aroma M perfumes, specifically Japanese hot springs or 'onsen', with their bathing tubs constructed of hinoki wood. To this I would add - by extension / association - impressive buildings fashioned from this revered species of cypress, such as Horyuji Temple (the oldest wooden building in the world, dating from 700-800 AD!), and the Ise Grand Shrine, aka Ise Jingu.

But why the West Country reference in the first place, given the strained and bracket-dependent nature of the puns in question? Well, quite simply because I am indebted to Val CQ Sperrer of Australian Perfume Junkies for sending me samples of this beauty - not once, but twice!  For I was so instantly smitten with Vanilla Hinoki that Val figured I could do with reinforcements sharpish, to enable me to spray with abandon. And Val once lived in Bristol, you see, and still has family connections there.

Going back to the point about liberal application, this is also what Maria McElroy, the founder of aroma M perfumes, likes to do with Vanilla Hinoki: in a video interview with Carlos J Powell (Brooklyn Fragrance Lover), she can be seen dabbing the oil version of the perfume onto a couple of strategic points either side of her neck, topped up with two generous spritzes of the edp to the same areas. Indeed the very act of being cocooned in a discreet cloud of scent already evokes the weightless sensation you feel when soaking in a hinoki bath, as the steamy hot water and minerals infuse with the aroma of the wood itself, gently coaxing mind and body into a dreamy, near-meditative state.

Source: aroma M perfumes

Notes: Moroccan vanilla, hinoki, bergamot, clove, cardamom, leather, incense-like patchouli, amyris and cedarwood

Not being a lover of scents at the foody, sweeter end of the vanilla spectrum, Maria deliberately set out to choose a vanilla material that was not overtly intense or gourmand, but rather 'light' and 'airy' and potentially unisex - to help convey this floaty sensation.

Horyuji Temple ~ Source: Wikimedia Commons

So how does Vanilla Hinoki smell to me? I have been wearing it a lot lately, with minimal variation between wearings. The opening is characterised by a sharp burst of bergamot, like shafts of sunlight piercing the tree canopy at one of the mountain-based onsens. Straight in behind it is an accord of musk, vanilla and lavender that is at once both fluffy and soothing and granular in texture, almost like the gritty mouthfeel of wedding cake icing. And I know of what I speak, having been to two weddings in as many weekends! Now icing can make for a rather intense hit of sweetness, but the lavender tones everything down and keeps it cool and a little herbal / green. With a bit of a 'pipe clearing' effect without being overtly mentholated, if that makes sense. The wispy incense and touch of earthy patchouli in the base also help to keep the scent grounded and outdoorsy.

Oh I say, check out the clouds on that mountain-themed wedding cake from the other Saturday! You could bolt a little hanging hot tub amongst the trees on the side there, no bother...;)

Now the odd thing is that at no point does my nose definitively pick up on the hinoki itself - it is something of a wood-of-the-wisp if you will. I sense it could be hiding behind the lavender, which can skew woody after all - not least the erstwhile bushes in my front garden! - or behind the delicate spice sprinkles, to stay with our cake image. It is a testament to Maria McElroy's deft hand in creating Vanilla Hinoki that she could weave two of my most notorious nemesis notes(!), lavender and clove, into the composition in such a beguiling way.

My mountaineering cousins' wedding cake! ~ Source: Hazel Martin

And that is all I can offer up by way of a description, for the perfume doesn't really evolve as such on me, but just becomes more attenuated, like scalding hot bath water gradually becoming tepid. But by the time that happens, some hours later, the 'spa treatment' has well and truly done its relaxing work - your skin is pleasantly prune-like, and your mind totally tuned out to all but the thought of whether to have sushi or ramen for dinner.

But if that was the end of the scented bit, I haven't finished talking about onsens yet, oh no. For on closer reading I learnt that the rubric surrounding taking a dip is much more elaborate than you might imagine - or maybe not, given that Japan is noted for its ceremonies and rituals. For starters, if Wikipedia is to be believed, around half of onsen operators ban bathers with tattoos, a rule that was designed to keep out members of criminal gangs 'who traditionally have elaborate full-body decoration'. Any tattooed readers will be glad to learn that about a third of onsen operators have a more laissez-faire policy, while a further 13% will allow tattooed guests to us the facilities as long as they cover the blessed thing up.

Source: holisticvanity.ca

Then in most onsens the protocol requires bathers to take off their shoes - swiftly followed by ALL the rest of their clothes, so I am not quite sure why shoes get a special mention! - and also to get washed before bathing, which is not as paradoxical as it sounds. Additionally, there is a whole etiquette around the correct deployment of your wash cloth or small towel. All very good advice from the See Japan website below, as you can...er...see. Or not see!

"You can bring a small towel with you into the bathing area, which can be used to wash your body and to hide your private parts (if you want) outside the water. You don't necessarily have to cover your parts, but it's a good idea to not show them off or draw attention to them anyway. It is recommended to take off your accessories and watches.... Don't put your towel into the water. Put it on your head, the edge of the tub or a rock near you."

Source: kashiwaya.org

I gather the real pros wear their wash cloths on their heads...;)

Speaking of pros, there are two other reasons for linking this post in with Val, apart from her kind gesture of fitting me up with ample supplies of Vanilla Hinoki: the first is the fact that her own review of the perfume is to be published shortly on APJ, and the second is that we are both keen fans of The Monochrome Set, who coincidentally have just been playing two gigs in Tokyo!

Shinjuku Marz ~ Courtesy of Ken Kinoshita

For going right back to the early 80s, the band have been 'big in Japan', as they say. Someone on Facebook asked whether I had thought of going along, so I explained that a long haul trip of that magnitude would drive a coach and horses through my 'acceptable cost per gig' algorithm. You can always count on fans who were at the concerts posting photos and videos, which is almost like being there...;)

Courtesy of Yuko Shimbo

In a further bid to 'get in the zone', I wore a T-shirt from the 2014 Japan tour at one point over the weekend (though not out, I hasten to add!), set one of my watches to JST so I could marvel at the to me unfashionably early times they went on stage - as in our lunchtime, imagine!- drank from my Japanese cat mug from MOMA, and got up to some Eastern-themed high jinks with my friend Gillie. In this photo she can be seen playing on 'wild foraged' percussion instruments in her zen garden.

Oh, and did I say I wore Geisha Vanilla Hinoki a lot...? Apparently the botanical name of hinoki cypress is 'Chamaecyparis obtusa', but teamed with Geisha and Vanilla that would be a bit of a mouthful.

PS Thanks to Yuko for the tip offs about famous buildings made of hinoki wood, and to her and Ken of prettypop for letting me use their gig photos. ;)

Sniffing Through A Glass Darkly: Failing A Bonkers Herb Garden Challenge

I have been called many things in my time: there was the disgruntled reader who dubbed me "God's mistake", and the ex-boyfriend who exclaimed in frustration, as I failed to grasp the operation of his camera: "You haven't got a brain, you've just got a memory!" Yes, down the years most of my personality traits and abilitiies have been called into question, from my imagination to my sense of spatial awareness to my very sanity. Yet for some reason no one has yet cast aspersions on my nasal prowess (or not publicly, or that I have noticed! : - ) ). And this despite my presuming to be a perfume blogger with only the sketchiest of abilities when it comes to picking out individual notes in scents. I offer a pretty impressionistic idea of how a fragrance smells, yet hopefully add another random object to the overall "collage" of perfume reviews in the blogosphere.

And then today my friend Gillie set me what turned out to be a fiendish fragrant challenge. She gave me a birthday present wrapped in stiff white paper and placed in a white gauze bag - between the paper and the bag she had inserted a selection of leaves from different herbs and asked me to identify them blind. Well, not even blind in fact, for if I recognised the look of any of them that was of course another way of skinning the cat, albeit slightly cheating in what was billed as a sniffing test.

THE OUTER BAG

So without further ado, here are the woeful results of my scented guesswork.

ROSEMARY - I said THYME

SAGE - I had no clue

LEMON BALM - I also had no clue, though it smelt a bit lemony after Gillie had revealed what it was; this may be significant ie as further confirmation of my shamelessly suggestible schnoz.

LAVENDER - I said OREGANO (for goodness' sake!)

THE HERB GARDEN

PARSLEY - I recognised it by eye, haha.

CORIANDER - As above!

LEMON-SCENTED GERANIUM - I had no clue again.

THYME - Gillie blurted out the answer by accident. : - )

MINT - As above (though I feel sure I would have got this one right of my own accord!)

THE RECORD SHEET

So in summary, out of seven herbs where I was not in fact alerted to the answer before I could pit my finely blunted wits against the question, I got a derisory TWO correct, and those only because I knew what they looked like, and didn't even get as far as smelling them.

In my defence, Gillie said I should have crushed a few of the leaves more vigorously in my fingers, as that would have given off more of an aroma, and me a better clue. And as inept as my nose patently is - and my culinary skills, by association! - I did discover some great new smells, notably lemon-scented geranium and lemon balm. Gillie assures me that lemon-scented geranium in particular is therapeutic for people undergoing any kind of trauma. Possibly also including this very confirmation that I am a perfume blogger without portfolio, or two nasal receptors to rub together, say!

Finally, here is a picture of Gillie relaxing in the garden, and posing with the submarine battery glass to which my nose is pressed in the photo at the top of the post. Yes, forget water features and architectural lighting, patio heaters or a barbecue tastefully screened by a thicket of pampas grass, a submarine battery glass is the must-have garden accessory for summer 2012.