Another fascinating post. Got on't bus the other day and a man said 'nice perfume' to me. So I said 'thanks!' over-brightly, then went to hide at the back of the bus.

Two thoughts: why did that comment make him strange? Really. Actually. He thought he was being nice.

And why was I flattered? It's not as if I concocted the perfume by squeezing the scent out of a million petals and sparkling raindrops, I just, err, chose it from the hundreds available.

Have a sniff next time you're in Boots - it's Celine.