A Midsummer Bonkers Road Trip: The Travel Bit - Part 1

The latest road trip to Germany and Switzerland – well, fly drive trip to be precise – got off to an excellent start when, without a quibble, the MAC concession at Stansted airport exchanged the bottle of Studio Fix foundation I had bought back in April, the last time I was passing through. The item was out of its money back period, but they let me swap it for an eye pencil and a peachy crème lipstick called - rather inappropriately for a dissatisfied customer ready to do battle - “Shy girl”. As things turned out, I didn’t even have to play my “Just so you know, the sales assistant who colour matched me was orange” card, which I was keeping up my sleeve in case there was any argy bargy about the suitability of the shade her colleague had recommended.

So anyway, as ever I will split my trip posts into the travel-related and the (somewhat) perfume-related, adding further subdivisions as the mood takes me. Without further ado, here are some of the things that struck me this time round...

The demise of soap

Now you may say that this observation is old hat... Because of course for some time now hotels have quietly been replacing individual tablets of guest soap with wall-mounted dispensers: one over the sink and one over the bath, if they remember. There is clearly a massive cost saving to the hotelier by not having to replace used soap tablets on a daily basis - or in my case, used and unused stolen ones. However, on this trip I noticed a further worrying development, namely the substitution of loose shower wash bottles for cakes of soap or wall-mounted soap dispensers. By substitution I mean just one bottle plonked in the sink area somewhere. I find this move concerning, because the wall-mounted dispensers have been specially developed to be suitable for all body parts, including hair, while shower crème is just shower crème, and it feels decidedly odd to squeeze out a bit to wash your hands. The whole principle of shower crème is predicated on its usage being confined to the shower, otherwise it should be called...well..."wash basin creme". So that bothered me.



Over-zealous extractor fans

Okay, so I am not disputing the important role of ventilation in a windowless bathroom, but I was particularly struck on this trip by the relentless efficiency with which extractor fans kicked in in my hotel en suites, droning on for a good ten minutes after I had vacated the area. That is in itself annoying enough, but someone could really do with inventing an “intelligent” extractor fan - you know, like those windscreen wipers that sense when and how hard it is raining and switch themselves on automatically to the appropriate setting. By the same token, there is an urgent need for extractor fans that sense you weren’t prompted to use the bathroom by an urgent need of your own, but in fact only nipped in for five seconds to brush your hair or powder your nose. Quite literally. Currently, the extractor fan is – acoustically speaking – a decidedly blunt instrument.



Minibars as the new wardrobes

On my last trip I learnt the lesson that it is foolhardy to put things in the wardrobes of hotel rooms, for the chances are that at some point you will check out and leave key items of clothing behind. This time I was acutely wardrobe-aware, and took pains to hang all clothes outside on hooks and rails and sundry ledges in plain view. I was, however, staying on the whole in a slightly better class of hotel, and had a minibar in my room on several occasions. This offered an illicit temperature-controlled environment for my stash of emergency chocolate, miniature bottles of drugstore Sekt and the sandwiches I had smuggled away under cover of serviette from the breakfast buffet. I was of course quick to transfer my wardrobe learning to this new scenario, and left notes in prominent places to remind myself to remove my interloping food and drink items from the minibar before checking out.



Preternaturally early lunches

The corollary of this packed lunch-making habit is that having checked out I lost my refrigerated facility, and the sandwich had to take its chances in the ambient interior of my car – as in ambient to boiling hot, depending on the weather. I made a point of catching the weather forecasts on the morning news with their detailed four hourly temperature projections, and on the basis of this information would time my lunch break accordingly. This could be as early as 11am in the case of soft cheese, which I knew to be a hotbed of salmonella and other nasties ending in "-cocci" if allowed to reproduce unchecked. Given that I had not long eaten a copious breakfast, you may wonder at this determination to consume all the food to which my room rate entitled me, but in my line of work the camel principle is key.



Internet robdoggery

Most of the hotels on my last trip offered free Internet access, the only catch being that there was not always a signal in my hotel room, and sometimes I could only log on to the network in the dining room or the lower reaches of the hotel stairs. This time I had a mixture of free Internet in the room, free access somewhere else in the hotel, OR very expensive Internet access in the room, which is a racket of the first water. In Stuttgart, for example, the hotel wanted 8 euros for an hour’s surfing which is simply outrageous. By way of protest, I waltzed past the front desk and out into the street with my open netbook cradled ostentatiously in my arms, and proceded to try to log on to an unsecured network in any of the neighbouring properties. Nothing doing, sadly, but it was worth a throw.

Even 200 yards away I was still taunted by my robdog hotel’s network with its flagrant demand for 8 euros. So I took my netbook back to my room and set off in search of an Internet café. A customer in a nearby video shop directed me to a call shop about 15 minutes’ walk away, where they only charged 2 euros an hour. Yay! My determination not to pay the hotel’s rate was as much about the principle as the money alone, though it is fair to say that the six euros I saved would have bought me 18 bottles of water or one and a half bottles of Suddenly Madame Glamour in Lidl! And I got a bit of exercise along the way...



To be continued...


Photo of extractor fan from innovativeelectricalsupplies.co.uk, photo of roll from breakfastbonn.de, photo of call shop from nachbarschaft.immobilienscout24.de, other photos my own.

Basenotes Mini-Meet Up And That Old "Skin Chemistry" Chestnut

As regular readers know, I travel extensively with my work - indeed I am off to Germany again in a couple of hours - so there will be the usual posting break on Bonkers. One of the perks of all this business travel has been the chance to meet some of my virtual perfumista friends in person: in Germany, Switzerland and the USA so far. But recently it came to my attention that there was another perfumista on my doorstep in Stafford! He contacted me through the Basenotes forum (where he goes by the name of Ralph), and we met for coffee on Saturday. We chose the steps of the art gallery as our meeting point: I said I would be carrying a bright orange Ormonde Jayne bag(!), but thanks to our highly attuned powers of fellow fumehead detection we recognised each other instinctively without the aid of props. : - )

It was a bright, sunny day, and we headed for Starbuck's round the corner, where we whiled away a pleasant couple of hours sitting outside in the main shopping thoroughfare. As is the way with these things, we got straight down to business and it wasn't long before the table was covered with bottles, decants and vials - and the entire smellable length of our arms in various scents - much to the bemusement of the people at adjacent tables.

Ralph had brought along a number of samples for me to test blind and try to identify, a fun challenge at which I failed dismally. Two of these were Montale Black Oud and L'Etat Libre d'Orange Fat Electrician - the oud note smelled familiar, but I couldn't put a name to it(!), though I could at least pick out the vetiver in the sublimely silly Fat Electrician.

Meanwhile, I was keen for Ralph to try three perfumes that I thought were on the turn or completely off: a mini of Jo Malone Lime Basil Mandarin, one of The Different Company Osmanthus, and a bottle of Floris Night Scented Jasmine. The Jo Malone we decided was not off after all, just unpleasantly basil-y! My mini was probably a bit long in the tooth, and it is possible that the basil had become more pronounced over time, but we concluded that the main problem was that it was simply not very nice to start with.

The tests with the Night Scented Jasmine and the Osmanthus were most illuminating. I had given up on the former because it had an oily, alcohol-y smell, and on the latter because of a synthetic, plasticky note. We conducted a side-by-side test, which had the added variable of male versus female skin.

To our surprise, on Ralph's skin both perfumes positively bloomed - the Night Scented Jasmine was a sumptuous floral, while the Osmanthus was fresh and fruity. Needless to say, they were both rehomed immediately. They were later joined by my albatross bottle of Juicy Couture Dirty English, which was like Caron Yatagan on me, but much softer on Ralph's skin. Indeed, given his leaning towards powerhouse fragrances like Aramis and Kouros, it wouldn't have mattered if it had smelt more strongly of Yatagan on him!

So that was all very interesting and satisfactory. After two rounds of drinks at Starbuck's, we sat on a shady bench in the churchyard of St Mary's for a little while, before grabbing a bite to eat in the Soup Kitchen, Stafford's oldest tea rooms, dating back to the 16th century. I had their last portion of soup, while Ralph opted for a sandwich, followed by a cream tea split between two. Well, just a single scone to be precise, because the ones from the Soup Kitchen are noted for being monstrous, tottering Towers of Pisa. We sat by the window upstairs in a relatively secluded spot, where we could carry on the serious business of spritzing and sniffing without raising too many eyebrows.

Four hours simply sped by, and then it was time for me to do some errands in town before the shops closed. Oh, and special commendation is due to Ralph for his tea assembly skills at Starbuck's. As reported in past posts, I am very particular about how my tea comes, and my worst nightmare is a barista pre-adding copious amounts of milk before the tea bag has had a chance to brew; sometimes up to 50% of the liquid content has been cold - or, bizarrely, hot - milk in tea made for me by cafe staff. Ralph, on the other hand, brought me a mug with a tea bag floating in it, plus a small measure of cold milk on the side. Result!

Now, I have just been looking at Basenotes to see if there is a search facility that would enable members to find others based in the same town. I tried inputting "Stafford", but the first hits were for Lee Stafford, the celebrity hairdresser, so I sense that this very specific functionality I have in mind may need more work. I did note that there are currently 53,304 members of the site, with approximately one in ten active (5,162).

So you never know...chances are, there's a Basenoter living near you too!


Photo of Soup Kitchen from stafford-towncentre.co.uk, photo of basenotes logo from basenotes.net, photo of Floris scent from florislondon.com, photo of St Mary's from staffordtown.co.uk, photo of Starbuck's mug from blog.epromos.com.

Perfume And Rosacea: A List Of Trigger Factors To Make You See Red

I am not blessed with good skin. Since the age of 15 or so, I have suffered from some sort of dermatological disturbance or other. For many years the doctors just called it acne: "teenage acne" first, then, as I approached my 40s and it became untenable to construe 36 as the new 16, my condition was promptly renamed "adult acne". I wondered how long these skin eruptions would persist - would my dispiriting ailment ever be relabelled "geriatric acne"? As the years passed with no remission in sight, it seemed a very real possibility.

On turning 50, I entered a brief phase of "menopausal acne", before a new hospital consultant pronounced my condition to be...drum roll..."perioral dermatitis". I quite liked this name, because "dermatitis" sounded reassuringly non-specific, even when qualified by its location ("around the mouth"). This was clearly not something I could have brought upon myself by eating lots of sticky buns and chocolate. But as it turned out I didn't suffer from perioral dermatitis for long, because at my next six monthly consultation, a new consultant took over, who was adamant that I was in fact suffering from rosacea.

Rosacea - it has a pleasing ring to it, possibly because it sounds a bit like "rose", but appearances are deceptive. Rosacea is in fact a ruddy nuisance. Your skin is prone to angry red patches, topped off with painful lumps and bumps that rise and fall with the precision choreography of a pus-propelled Mexican wave.

The first line treatment is antibiotics - both oral and topical - but in my reading around the subject, I was shocked to come across a long list of possible trigger factors compiled from patient histories. Here are the ones that sounded most relevant to my own lifestyle and diet

Foods

•Cheese (except cottage cheese)
•Chocolate
•Vanilla
•Soy sauce
•Yeast extract
•Vinegar
•Avocados
•Spinach
•Broad-leaf beans and pods, including lima, navy or pea
•Citrus fruits, including tomatoes, bananas, red plums, raisins or figs
•Spicy and thermally hot foods

Temperature-related

•Saunas
•Hot baths
•Simple overheating
•Excessively warm environments

Weather

•Sun
•Strong winds
•Cold
•Humidity

Beverages

•Alcohol, especially red wine, beer, bourbon, gin, vodka or champagne
•Hot drinks, including hot cider, hot chocolate, coffee or tea

Medical conditions

•Frequent flushing
•Menopause

Emotional influences

•Stress
•Anxiety

Physical exertion

•Exercise
•"Lift and load" jobs

Skin care products

•Some cosmetics and hair sprays, especially those containing alcohol, witch hazel or fragrances
•Hydro-alcoholic or acetone substances
•Any substance that causes redness or stinging

Hello? That is my life right there that the Rosacea Organisation has described. Indeed it is pretty much the life of any middle-aged working woman. Well, speaking for myself it is, give or take the lima and navy beans. What are navy beans, anyway? Oh, and I am not a fan of Bourbon. But otherwise that is me to a "T".

So I am supposed to avoid sun...and cold...and wind? And humidity? That would also include rain, I take it, which tends to be jolly humid. That means I can only venture out on a mild, dry cloudy day, and must remain confined to barracks during all other types of weather. Which will doubtless increase my stress levels (another trigger), and prompt me to seek refuge from the stress of multiple weather constraints in a nice relaxing bath with a glass of wine (a double whammy of triggers!).

Though I must say that it has been no hardship at all to avoid exercise - gentle Pilates once a week (when I am in the country) can't surely do me any harm. I don't have a "lift and load" type job either, unless you count mauling my briefcase and luggage in and out of the boot of the car on work trips. And as a concession I have given up witch hazel spot zapping sticks, along with facial toners containing astringent, alcohol-based formulae (which is most of them!).

Even so, there were enough prohibitions on that list to put the wind up me good and proper (it's that wind trigger again!), so at my last hospital appointment I levelled with the consultant.

"Okay, so what's the deal with all these supposed triggers in the leaflet I've been given? If I followed that list to the letter I would end up like those poor kids you see on the Discovery Channel who live in a bubble - you know, where their parents can't hug them or their skin would fall off? What is a person really supposed to do?"

"Ah", replied the consultant. "I shouldn't worry in your case. You have some redness, but your rosacea manifests itself for the most part as papules and pustules rather than spontaneous flushing."

Hearing my face linked to such distasteful terms as "papules and pustules", I blushed deeply. But at the same time I was relieved that I could crank up the radiator and enjoy a G & T or two. And most importantly, I could carry on wearing perfume on a daily basis...

For in my case the trigger list proved to be a red herring more or less. And for everything else, there's Revlon ColorStay. Yes, for a foundation with light but forgiving coverage, it simply cannot be beaten.




Picture of rosacea sufferer from acnetreatmentforum.com, photo of girl with "face mask" from rosaceaworld.com, photo of windswept woman from nj.com, cartoon of man lifting load from safework.sa.gov.au, cartoon of spotty face from glamouredited.com, photo of mugs from myrosaceacure.com, phot of Revlon ColorStay from zimbio.com

Kikkerland Scented Rubbers - A Functional Fragrance Too Far?

Kikkerland Design Inc. is a US company with its roots in Holland (the word "Kikkerland" is a term of endearment for "The Netherlands" apparently, meaning "land of frogs"). This explains why it actually says "Scented Erasers" on the packet, but as a British person with some 48 years of manual error correction under my belt, I cannot bring myself to refer to this small item of stationery as anything other than a rubber. Some US readers may be sniggering at this point, but the readership of Bonkers is currently heavily skewed towards British people googling "Lidl perfume", so the transatlantic titters may be minimal. By the same token - in the unlikely event of these terms arising naturally in the context of a scent-related post - I shall not hesitate to refer colloquially to a cigarette as a "fag", while strenuously avoiding all references to "fanny".

So that's cleared that up. Now I got these rubbers as a joke gift from my best friend Clare, owner of the perfumista pin-up pooch, and yesterday I finally broached the packet and actually smelt them. Before getting into my sniffing report proper, I should perhaps lead with this overview of the company's ethos, taken from its website:

"Welcome to Kikkerland Design Inc., where creativity runs rampant and even the most utilitarian gadget becomes a delightful discovery.

Since 1992, the folks at Kikkerland Design have traveled the world in search of original designs for things that can make life more enjoyable. Clever things to intrigue you. Smart things that make everyday tasks easier. And gentle things that make you feel happier when you use them."

I guess a fragrant rubber comes under the heading of "gentle things to make you feel happier". In theory at least...

So there are five rubbers in the range, small plasticky cubes - PVC free, Latex free - which got me wondering what they are in fact made of. I've done a bit of research and think they are probably vinyl rather than the synthetic rubber variety. They are not much bigger than a sugar cube - or even a Dolly Mixture! - and coloured rather sickly shades suggestive of their odour/"flavour". These are: strawberry, milk, mixed fruit juice, chocolate and grape. They are packaged, for reasons that pass me by completely, in what I can best describe as an imitation Tetra-pak milk carton, which you have to rip off to extract the rubber inside.

Right, so I smelt them each in turn - there was no point trying to conduct a blind test, as it was pretty obvious which was which from the colour. I could only actually detect a scent at all in three of them: chocolate, grape and vanilla. Each was a bit synthetic, but recognisable as the scent in question. The mixed fruit juice and strawberry ones were, however, completely odourless. Then Mr Bonkers had a go (not noted for his nasal prowess, obviously, but with the benefit of being on hand at the time of the trial). Now he could only smell the milk one, which he pronounced to be "very vanilla-y".

So in summary, a range of scented rubbers that are not very scented at all, really.

And you may be curious to know - and I am going to tell you anyway! - how they rub out. Not too badly is the answer, although each cube is so small that it is hard to get decent purchase. And obviously we are only talking pencil marks here.

So the trend to functional fragrance in products as diverse as fabric conditioner and drawer liners - drawer liners of all kinds, indeed! - marches inexorably onwards. According to the recent BBC documentary, Perfume, Brazilians have a ceaseless appetite for all things fragrant, so maybe these rubbers would go down well over there. I remain unimpressed myself.

And of course the other thing about this product idea is that people don't write with pencils very much anymore - or pens, for that matter. Pretty much the only time I write with a pencil is at one of those residential management courses held in a country house hotel - you know, the sort where couples go for adulterous trysts and ballooning weekends.

So on balance, it is much simpler to type rather than write with an implement. Then if you do happen to make a mistake, it is just a question of hitting "delete", "back space" or "undo". Yes, if I was the marketing person at Kikkerland responsible for picking this particular product, I'd be inclined to Kikkerland it into touch - back into the "mad box of frogs" whence it came...

Or - to quote that song by the Cardigans... I would

ERASE - REWIND.


Photo of Kikkerland offices from fastcompany.com, other photos my own

Stafford's Own Kate Middleton: She May Be A Lookalike, But Is She Also A Smellalike?

Following the recent royal tour of Canada, Kate Middleton's popularity is on the ascendant. The word on the street is that she could soon attain the iconic status of Princess Diana, without any recourse to peeping coyly from under her fringe, or batting of spider's leg lashes. Personally I am fixated by her svelte silhouette, and imagine her vital organs jostling for position above and below the Panama Canal of her waist.

Yes, everyone wants a piece of our Kate, and as the runaway success of Illuminum White Gardenia Petals demonstrates, a lot of people are happy to conjure up the Duchess in a bottle with every spritz of her wedding scent.

And for those who haven't managed to catch a glimpse of Kate Middleton in person, or snag a bottle of White Gardenia Petals, there might be a chance to see Kate Bevan instead, her 22 year old professional lookalike - who is originally from Wolverhampton and lives in Stafford!

Now as it happens, the chemist featured in my last post is no ordinary neighbourhood pharmacy. Though not on account of its woefully limited fragrance selection - that is par for the course, more or less. No, the chemist in question has hit the national press because it was there that Kate Bevan worked as a pharmaceutical assistant until she got her lucky career break!

People had often remarked on the resemblance between the two Kates, but from the engagement onwards things really took off. "Nearly everyone who comes through the pharmacy door makes a comment and gawps in total shock", she told The Daily Mail last November. "I went out to buy a sandwich for my lunch and I was stopped four times by people in the street."

Kate Bevan got married herself last May, but she reckons her husband Nathan looks more like Harry than William, and William is apparently not her type...

In the spirit of verisimilitude, Kate Bevan also took elecution lessons to lose her West Midlands accent and sound more of a sophisticated southerner.

Now, because Kate Bevan's job as a professional lookalike is to be a top to toe replica of her namesake, if she hasn't already done so she should research the Duchess's scent wardrobe. Apart from White Gardenia Petals, I received a tip off to the effect that Kate Middleton wears Narciso Rodriguez For Her EDT, and her liking for Dune is well documented.

And it goes without saying that if Kate Bevan wishes to smell the part, she will need to look beyond the perfume range of the chemist where her newfound stardom all began...


Photos of Kate Bevan from zimbio.com, profimedia.si and expressandstar.com

A Radical Cure For Option Anxiety - Buy Perfume At Your Local Chemist!

In her latest post on Infatuation and Perfume, Olfacta of Olfactarama was asking readers where they are along their own perfume "trajectory". She writes - with a nifty bodice-ripping analogy to evoke the "honeymoon" phase of fumeheads' relationships with perfume: "I’m no longer swapping madly and waiting impatiently for the mailman and the UPS truck or spending too much on Our Favorite Online Auction Site or ripping packages open when I’m barely through the door."

I gave her question some thought and replied in the comments to the effect that my own infatuation with scent has definitely peaked or plateaued, and that my acquisitions of full bottles or decants in swaps are much more selective these days. My existing - ludicrously substantial - collection gives me a sensation of satisfaction and "fullness" not dissimilar to someone patting their stomach after a delicious four course meal. In my comment I compared it to a feeling of maternal pride: "I opened the door of my perfume fridge yesterday and the beatific gaze with which I viewed its serried ranks of bottles and decants could be likened to a proud mother looking at her brood of children round the dining table and thinking that ten are probably enough now (more or less)."

So given that that is where I am at - and happy to be so - how would it be if my scent options were severely curtailed? For also this week, Eyeliner on a Cat posed the question: "if you had to choose, which 3 houses would rule your kingdom", hypothetically restricting our scent selection from now on to the ranges of just three perfume houses. Actually, that could still be a pretty large pool if you pick your houses right - don't go for Stephen Burlingham, say, or Isabey, with just one or two scents to their name!

Then the other day I was testing - on multiple skin sites, rather rashly! - a freebie sample I got in Holland on my recent work trip. It was Ed Hardy Love Kills Slowly, a fruity floral number of supreme forgettability, and I upset myself by imagining how I'd feel if this were the only perfume I was allowed. Would I even wear it? That is a good question, and the answer is a guarded yes, for it is by no means horrible, just cheap and a bit synthetic and nondescript. I actually can imagine quite a lot of "regular" men enjoying smelling this on their womenfolk.

Top notes: Apple souffle, mango, wild strawberry, ruby red grapefruit.
Mid notes: Freesia petals, watery muguet, linden blossom.
Dry notes (sic!): Warm amber, sensual musks, tonka bean, vanilla pudding.

Now it happened that around the time I was testing Love Kills Slowly, Katie Puckrik posted a video on her blog of Christophe Laudamiel talking about what makes a perfume smell cheap, and I mentioned the Ed Hardy in a comment, and how I had been trying to figure out wherein lay its cheapness. To which Katie replied:

'"Love Kills Slowly", eh? Sounds like you were speeding up the process with your multiple site approach.'

And this got me thinking about how too little choice could very likely kill one's hobby stone dead. As in "Kills Love Slowly" rather than the reverse. Yes, lock me up with just Jean-Paul Gaultier's range of scents for ever - or Hugo Boss, say - and I wouldn't be happy. I wouldn't give up on scent altogether, and would seek out the least uncongenial offerings from each range to wear, but I would be restlessly pacing my artificially imposed perfume prison cell all the while.

Which is not to say that there aren't days when the sheer size of my scent collection doesn't feel like a burden. That's when I go to pick out a SOTD and am paralysed with inertia, or when I worry about my bottles going off despite their temperature controlled habitat. But...any time I feel overfaced by the cornucopian contents of my fridge, I remember my local chemist and remind myself how lucky I am not to only have access to its paltry perfume range for the rest of time.

I should perhaps explain that while in most of Europe there seems to be a clearer demarcation between pharmacies selling drugs and drugstores (somewhat perversely) not selling drugs so much as cosmetics, toiletries and household cleaning products, in the UK our independent pharmacies tend to dabble in all manner of non-pharmaceutical lines, from body butters to hair grips, spectacle cases and rubber gloves. These tend to be very bargain basement brands, if one can even dignify them with that name.

So going back to perfume, when I say that my local pharmacy carries a "paltry" range of perfumes, I mean very poor indeed - as in sparse, and of very mixed quality.

Here they are:

Aromatics Elixir
Charlie (Red)
CK Eternity Moment
Britney Spears Curious
Paris Hilton Heiress
Kylie Minogue Sweet Darling
A banded twinpack of Moschino Oh! and something else in a gold pack - a body lotion, perhaps?

Yup, that really is it!!!

The controversial Clinique classic aside, if that was all you had to wear for ever, it just might kill your love of scent pretty darn quick. For though having a great deal of choice is a double-edged sword, as a perfumista, once you have sampled "the drunkenness of things being various", to quote my favourite line from the poet Louis MacNeice, most of the time you never look back...

World is crazier and more of it than we think,
Incorrigibly plural. I peel and portion
A tangerine and spit the pips and feel
The drunkenness of things being various.

Louis MacNeice (extract from Snow)

Photos of pharmacy logos from national-pharmacy.net and nhs.dg.scot.nhs.uk, photo of bodice ripper novel from thesocietypages.org, photo of Ed Hardy perfumes and logo from ioffer.com and uptowngirlfashion.com, photo of hair accessories stand from emeliaaccessories.co.uk

Finding The Tipping Point - Vexingly Various Viscosities And Why It Sprays But It Never Pours

As a frequent decanter, I must say that I can't be doing with washing funnels. I own four metal ones and a handful of plastic funnels of varying dimensions, which I try not to use, precisely because they are only suitable for one-time use - or multiple uses involving the same scent. I do in fact have a bag of plastic funnels dedicated to different scents, but rarely find a need to redeploy them. Oh, I have just spotted in the photo the one for Michel Comté's Shared Water! That's ironic, given that the whole point of the funnel is to prevent that very phenomenon...

So for the most part, I decant using metal funnels and wash them in the kitchen sink. That is one of the few perks of my going away as often as I do on work trips, according to Mr Bonkers. When he does the dishes he doesn't catch his hand on an assortment of metal objects lurking like submarines at the bottom of the washing up bowl, along with the obligatory teaspoon or two. For it is an infallible law of nature that there is always at least one teaspoon in the dirty water when you go to empty the bowl...

Yes, I wash and soak and sometimes re-wash and re-soak the funnels - I squirt neat Fairy Liquid in and swoosh it around with my finger, before putting the funnel back in to soak. Overnight, often. Or whole days if the coast is clear. Yet certain scents resist the most determined detergents and retain a trace of the decanted fragrance for a long time afterwards.

Given the palaver involved in funnel care, it is hardly surprising that when I set about consolidating my various bits and bobs of samples of the same scent the other day, I decided to go commando and just tip from receptacle A to receptacle B wherever possible. I was mostly trying to transfer 1ml and 2ml glass vial samples - together with the remnants of minis and small splash bottle decants - into 3ml and 5ml atomisers, with a view to taking some of these scents on my next trip.

Upending a 1ml sample vial and tipping it into the wider mouth of an atomiser is usually straightforward, assuming you have a half-steady hand. The procedure becomes very tricky, however, if you are emptying one of those glass vials with a lip, like the ones you get from Les Senteurs. Tip the sample upside down till you are blue in the face, tap it against the side of the receiving atomiser as hard as you like, but not a drop will come out. Or not until about 10 minutes of concerted shaking and tapping have elapsed will the vial grudgingly yield its contents.

This all seems counter-intuitive though, because at the end of the day, it is still A HOLE, and you would think the laws of gravity would apply. Well, a "lay decanter" like me would think that, anyway. I have the same problem with two of my funnels, which have a markedly smaller diameter of the funnelly bit. You spray a goodly squirt of your chosen perfume and wait for a moment, but the darn liquid won't go down! Again, I repeat - a hole is a hole - or should be. But there again, maybe not. It may be all about the meniscus. Menisci moving in mysterious ways.

So aperture is one thing, but even when I was tipping samples from and to identical vials, I noticed marked differences in the pourability of some scents. I should have been paying more attention at the time, but I recall that Jo Malone White Jasmine & Mint was a very compliant pourer, while Tom Ford Neroli Portofino was like recalcitrant magma! Which I wouldn't have expected from what I perceive as a light, "get up and go" scent. I would have placed scents like Ormonde Jayne Tolu or Patou Joy or Micallef Hiver at the magma end of the bell curve - you know, plush and overtly perfumey scents with the sluggish gait of motor oil.

I tried to google "perfume viscosity" and its relationship to decanting and pouring, and came up with surprisingly few citations of note. Though I did find this nugget on the "pour point":

"Pour point: The temperature at which a viscous liquid becomes pourable is called the pour point."

Temperature is also involved? Perhaps it is standard though across all perfume, but actual motor oil may have a different pour point, say. Or maple syrup, for argument's sake. Or sake, for that matter... : - )

The nugget continues:

"If diluents are present in the supplied viscous liquid then the pour point is reduced."

As in the temperature?? Does Jo Malone contain diluents? I am sure those nice people at Estée Lauder wouldn't thank me for speculating on the matter. For that way lies orange squash...

"Pour points are generally not very accurate as they vary with every consignment noticeable in resinoids."

I don't doubt it! So could my perfume collection be construed as "a consignment noticeable in resinoids", I wonder? Very likely - for I fancy a resinoid has got to be just some gunkier version of oil, and my slowest pourers must surely have a bit of those in them?

Still, I can't help thinking that this pour point and temperature lark may be a red herring. I would like to know what else affects pourability, and is it in any way a marker of quality, or not? You know, the double cream principle...

Has anyone else experienced problems relating to narrow apertures and/or variable viscosities? (There I go again, uncharacteristically asking a question!) And was it with the same style of vial? And can you recall which scents poured with glacial torpor? Tip me the wink about what goes on in your sink... ; - )


Photo of woman pouring perfume from art-prints-on-demand.com, photo of Les Senteurs sample from shop.lessenteurs.com, photo of frog pouring perfume from bibliodyssey.blogspot.com, other photos my own