I bought Duncan a full, very discounted bottle of Gucci’s now discontinued ( and very much sought after ) cult scent Envy the other day. A spiced incense – but not in the mahoganied, lifeless, niche and mainstream current manner ; the accents are all tilted and upturned towards ginger, mainly ginger, over pimento and cardamom and opoponax and woods and all good things, very deep and lower registered, a factor I used to find disconcerting and strange, but which I now find draws me in. To think that this was once just a mere high street designer number strikes me now as astonishing. How thin, mean, fatless yet aggressive our day to day perfumes seem now in comparison with this suavity.
The boy hasn’t been wearing much scent though recently, it must be said, having bizarrely sustained hydrangea poisoning ( who knew they contained cyanide?) when using armfuls of flowers ripped from our garden and strapped to his body for a performance piece at our Trapezista a couple of weeks ago.
Result? Full dermatitis and insomnia- it has been a ratchety and highly strung, sweltering couple of weeks, I must say, but I think he is getting better now, well enough anyway to wear the Envy, just sprayed, instead of on skin, on the fan you see above, for the fireworks festival tonight in Kamakura.
We had been invited by our lovely neighbours and ‘Japanese family’ the Mitomis to view the proceedings for the first time from the serene environment of an old, famous Chinese restaurant established in 1947 called Kaseiro, just a minute down the road from the Great Buddha.
Thank God. I had rushed out of my workplace into a panic inducing, if beautiful, thrum of young men and women in summer yukata kimonos, families all excited for the occasion, young lovers, school children, old timers, foreign tourists, but it was too much. Apparently 200,000 people all crammed onto the beaches last year and it really felt like it this year as well. I am not very good in the throng, and was very relieved to be able to turn down a side street, and then make my way to the restaurant, which I had never noticed before, and which was a picture ( and taste) of that old fashioned, Japanese Chinese.
Delicious, actually. And when the room got a bit too warm as we came to the end of the fireworks and our meal, the low, warm incense smell of Envy emanating slowly from the waves of a black fan was the perfect accompaniment to the old furnishings, the swish of the waitress’s pink satin kimono, and the lingering excitement of the fireworks outside, beyond the glass.