In which I leave the house briefly with regrettable consequences

I am wearing a scent today that is supposed to smell like the noise of the sail clanking in a gentle breeze on your yacht on the way to the Aeolian islands, whilst you drink a last limoncello (last? Who drank the rest of it, pray, Aqua Viva?). I actually smell of frozen duck shepherds pie with peas, sinusitis, damp towels that have sat for too long in the washing machine and resignation.

I wish you could get away with this kind of flimflammery in other professions. I would quite like my plumber to tell me that my boiler is "a fiery, long-lashed grey stallion, flaring its nostrils and pawing the ground with one hoof on a gently rolling Tuscan hill covered with wild thyme at sunset as the first autumn chills creep over the ancient fortifications of the nearby medieval hill town". Or, when I was a lawyer, I would have very much liked to say "you could, perhaps, view this non-compete clause as a cherubic toddler, with golden ringleted hair the texture of spun silk, spilling menthe à l'eau down his pristine sailor suit because his nanny will not let him have a third turn on the ornately painted wooden horses of the fairground ride in the Jardins de Luxembourg, circa 1912".

Sorry, I am getting obsessed. What else is new? Oh! I BOUGHT something which is neither food or for children. This has become such an extreme rarity (tiny violins, please) that it is very noteworthy. I went to have a potter round les soldes in the hope of finding excellent discounts on pygmy goats, gin, ponies or Sinutab. Instead I found a dress. Here it is, in a photo so spectacularly fuzzy and dark, as to be entirely pointless:

Is it a dress? A unquiet soul manifesting as a ghostly robed presence? An angry fox on its way to eat my face? Difficult to tell.

I dunno what you'd call that colour. Baby poo, perhaps. Not Black, anyway, which is something of a shock to me. Look closer, anyway, at the very exciting thing about the dress, which was in a rather smart shop that sells Repettos and Paul & Joe and other costly fripperies (no, I don't know what I was doing there. Looking for a miniature Shetland pony, maybe):

That's a mere 24,95 of your euros. I am not surprised you can buy a dress for €25, I live round the corner from H&M, but I was astonished to find it in a shop where everything else had another digit on the front. It must be made by an army of sweatshop pygmy jerboas, wearing their long fingers to the bone sewing. Thanks, jerboa army. My shopping companion sounded a warning note, however:

"You might want to wear some other pants with it. Those ones are quite ... obvious". Which is always good to hear about your new dress. Thanks. No flamingo pants, got it.

Better still (some might disagree), I found a paper model of a chip van you can build yourself!

You can see the full range of paper models of echt Belgian monuments and scenes here, including a most magnificent Atomium AND A TRAM.

After this excitement, I had a piece of rhubarb cake and was quite badly seduced by some beautifully packaged Debailleul chocolates, but I had a stern word with myself and escorted myself firmly back to Uccle, muttering. I will not try and leave again, it's dangerous.

Now I must go and watch the last Engrenages, because even though it is extravagantly stupid, it has sucked me in. Everyone in it looks like people I used to work for. Corporate partner from the Paris office! Why are you getting into bed with that police lady? Ewwwww, I DO NOT WANT TO SEE YOU NAKED.

On that bombshell, here is a goat eating a vintage (old) Cerutti jacket. Never let it be said I do not spoil you.

UPDATE:

This may have to be my last word on the subject of scent: