Penhaligon's Bluebell

Since we were on the topic of bluebells anyway...

I've worn Penhaligon's Bluebell since I was seventeen, and I hope the day never comes that I tire of it. I live in fear that it will be discontinued, and don't feel really comfortable unless I have at least two bottles in the house as back ups. I practically bathe in it - on my pillows, in my hair, it's spritzed liberally and extravagantly as I try to capture its ethereal beauty for a little longer. Come to think of it, I probably I reek of bluebells most of the time, and maybe everyone is just too polite to say anything.

I wear it with such abandon because I don't see how would it be possible to reek of something so delicate and fleeting and light. I have trouble breaking down its notes at all, because I know it so very well, and because part of its magic is that through layering it's created almost a very basic soliflore - the simple scent of a spring bluebell. There's tiny blue bell-like blooms - fragrant and a little sharp, like a slightly shyer, more demure hyacinth - then the dew-laden, green stem, icy and crisp, pulled from cold, damp, dark soil with the tiniest hint of earthy spice at the roots. The beauty of it is, none of this smells like a synthetic blend of notes - nothing about it shouts "perfume" - it's just pure, quiet, peaceful English woodland, a beautiful captured moment from a perfect day. Its lasting power isn't terribly strong, but the tiny whisper of scent it does leave behind is exquisite, understated and charming, just like the flower itself.

I know it's not for everyone - people tend to feel quite polarized about its charms - but I'm perfectly happy with that - it's mine, and I don't want everyone splashing it about carelessly anyway- and I'm sure those of us who love it will be quite content to go in living in our bluebell-scented haze forever.