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In an English port in the late 19th century...
After I had just discovered the Penhaligon's fragrances for myself, especially the "Portraits" series, I of course also had to test this men's fragrance.
A liquid of the colour of cold-pressed olive oil rolls in the sample tube. After the application something indefinable, alcoholic is perceptible for a very short time, but it says goodbye to my skin already after a few seconds.
Now it gets exciting: after a few minutes I smell tar and ropes in the biting sun of a Victorian port. In my mind's eye, frigates marked by the sea and wind appear, sluggishly bobbling around at their berths. Only seagull cries, quiet creaking rigging and gurgling water are audible. Otherwise it is completely quiet - by British standards the too hot sun has brought all activities to a standstill.
Well, Lord George, you here? I wonder what this fancy-dressed, a little pale guy with the high top hat is doing here Seal an important deal? Even buying a ship or inspecting goods from India that he ordered over a year ago? He has a half-full glass with him, from which he always nervously sips a red-gold liquid. Ts-ts-ts! But that's not exactly the fine English way to go...
Whatever the visibly agitated lord intends - he obviously has to drink himself half an hour of courage before he disappears with his high-percentage drink between a stack of bags that add a slight pepper note to the smell of tar and heated wooden planks. Or is it the aftershave of the lord that turns out a little more penetrating in the heat than usual?
Very mysterious! - and an interesting, not everyday fragrance, which I can well imagine in a man who is as "sophisticated" as he is down-to-earth. I will not wear it myself because it is too masculine for me, but I already know to whom I bequeath the test tube: my good friend J., who is not only very fond of Victorian times, but also sailed around Gibraltar as a sailor on the frigate "Shtandart". No one else will appreciate him as much.
A liquid of the colour of cold-pressed olive oil rolls in the sample tube. After the application something indefinable, alcoholic is perceptible for a very short time, but it says goodbye to my skin already after a few seconds.
Now it gets exciting: after a few minutes I smell tar and ropes in the biting sun of a Victorian port. In my mind's eye, frigates marked by the sea and wind appear, sluggishly bobbling around at their berths. Only seagull cries, quiet creaking rigging and gurgling water are audible. Otherwise it is completely quiet - by British standards the too hot sun has brought all activities to a standstill.
Well, Lord George, you here? I wonder what this fancy-dressed, a little pale guy with the high top hat is doing here Seal an important deal? Even buying a ship or inspecting goods from India that he ordered over a year ago? He has a half-full glass with him, from which he always nervously sips a red-gold liquid. Ts-ts-ts! But that's not exactly the fine English way to go...
Whatever the visibly agitated lord intends - he obviously has to drink himself half an hour of courage before he disappears with his high-percentage drink between a stack of bags that add a slight pepper note to the smell of tar and heated wooden planks. Or is it the aftershave of the lord that turns out a little more penetrating in the heat than usual?
Very mysterious! - and an interesting, not everyday fragrance, which I can well imagine in a man who is as "sophisticated" as he is down-to-earth. I will not wear it myself because it is too masculine for me, but I already know to whom I bequeath the test tube: my good friend J., who is not only very fond of Victorian times, but also sailed around Gibraltar as a sailor on the frigate "Shtandart". No one else will appreciate him as much.
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Sharka
