June 26, 2007

That is, I smell like one.

Because I got home to The Forgotten House Of Doom last night, niftily skipped past the menagerie (update: new rabbit has already replaced one eaten by dogs), the pools of alcoholic wee and the mad woman responsible for it all, only to find a smart, black parcel waiting for me at the foot of the stairs.

Now, who doesn't like parcels, eh? Presents in proper boxes delivered by the postie? Especially ones with "Jo Malone, London" inscribed in tasteful white lettering on the front of the box?

So, I scurried, Fagin-style, up the stairs to The Lost Attic Of All Noise, clutching my loot beneath my arm and grinning like The Child Catcher on a good day at the office.

I tore off the tape, prised open the box, and inside, I was delighted to find.... well, some hay.

Nice hay, admittedly. Dark brown stuff, good and dry. Horses would love it. Arsonists, too. But still, you know, hay.

But, ever the investigative hack, I delved in, and out came the cologne goodies: Wild Fig and Cassis , "warm and fruity"; Pomegranate Noir, "rich and regal"; Nectarine Blossom and Honey, "a sweet ambrosia".

They were an enormously generous gift from Lord and Lady Eggbod as a "well done" for the parachute jump, and came with a short, funny inscription that was signed off "Eggers".

Now, I'm not saying the wild fig and cassis scent is nice or anything, but put it this way: There are five people patiently queuing up to lick my face.

And no, none of them is Mojo.

Thank you, Eggers.

x

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