RATHER LIKE A GENTLEMAN'S AFTERSHAVE ...

This blogger kind of overdid it on the pipes today. And yesterday. And the day before. Reason being that where I work is a smoking environment.
And I had a tonne of Virginia mixtures......

Including some mighty queer shiznit.


One of them appears to be topdressed with a perfume containing primarily bergamot and clove: Astleys No. 2. Which also contains a smidgen of Perique, and rather reminds me of Germain's Plum Cake.

[Both are in their own way very enjoyable, being made of top notch leaf, and carefully composed. The tobacco still speaks, rather than being bludgeoned into silence.]


Back in the last century, many tobaccos had odours imported from the snuff trade. These are, on the whole, extremely pleasant when compared to the whorehouse reeks common today. The modern aromatic mixture is a vulgar tart when compared to restrained courtesans of the past.

Evenso, it's mighty odd stuff.

None of these things could appeal to the drinker of Starbucks frapputti.
Who would insist upon tobacco with vanilla caramel wild heather honey plus hazelnut. A well as almond essence, kiwi-passion fruit, and mango.

And might utilize a pipe of nightmarishly artistic design.

Something horrible and garish, neo-Gothic.

Gandalfian, frou-frou.

Icky poo.



Normally I would not touch any of the perfumed crap.
But sometimes a man has to experiment.

I do not own uncivilized pipes, however, and certainly no Bohemian freehands; those are for immature and very silly persons.




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