Blenheim Bouquet (1902)
by Penhaligon's

I recently received a sample of this scent in and the initial hit of citrus from the top notes reminds me of "Bitter Lemon". I don't detect the lavendar listed in the notes, but as it mellows into it's base notes, the citrus gives way to a woodsy pine and thyme mix with citrus memories.

I don't normally like citrus, but I have added this to my list of fragrances to buy.

25th December, 2011.

I recently received a sample and I have added it to my list of fragrances I would wear on a regular basis. The top notes are strong and citrus, very bitter lemon rather than the lime and lavendar listed for the top notes. The initial hit of clean citrus mellows out into the bases notes though a pine and thyme transition to something more woodsy with a faint memory of it's citrus beginings.

I really like this scent and I am normally no fan of citrus scents. This is definitely going to be added to my (long) list of must have scents.

25th December, 2011.

I love Penhaligon's and love them for their complex and conservative fragrances. However, I can't get myself to wear BB. To me it smells like lemon head candy w/ pine, which makes the fragrance even more "tart". IF you are use to Penhaligon's other offerings, BB is very one dimensional. I don't fault Penhaligon's, because its one of their first offerings and its a sign that times change.

7th October, 2011.

No one had any idea the beautiful morning of September 11th, 2001 would turn to soot and misery before noon. I remember crossing 5th avenue at around 8:30am, and thinking that a more glorious morning could not be conceived: It was crisp, clear....the temperature was perfect. I wore a brown suit, a white shirt, and a solid red neck tie: I've never been one for novelties and prints. I could smell the lavender wafting up from my linen, as I sped up the lift to the 34th floor. By 9:30 all was mayhem. People were screaming. Then the second plane hit and the phones went dead. We were captive on East 49th street: Building security would not let us leave. Finally, by four in the afternoon, if we signed a waiver, we could go--and so I did. For three days Manhattan shut down, and most everyone stayed in their apartments. There was hardly any traffic on the streets, and very little noise. Many had unexpected guests who lived below Canal Street. Myself, I was alone, and sat in the quiet without television nor radio, internet access or phone service. It took me hours of concentrated effort to tape up the windows, as was suggested, along with air-ducts and door cracks. From that day on, all of New York City smelled like a backyard barbecue. "Ground Zero" smoked and gushed for months and months. A full year later it still smoked. Life just smelled of smoke, and loss: Every day for eight months I walked through funerals on Fifth Avenue: Huge ones--for all of the servicemen who lost their lives. They tend to put on quite a huge pageant in these instances. People didn't speak much at first. The clubs were full: Everyone kept drinking...but there just wasn't a great deal of talking. I, for the first time in my life, found that I couldn't wear perfume. Not only was I convinced my unwavering habit was unfit for such a gloomy time, nothing at all about it seemed alluring or necessary. Three weeks in to the New Era of Austerity and I gave in to a sudden urge to splash myself in signature brew, only to burst into tears as soon as I smelled it swirling around me. I would have to find a new one. In those days, there was a beautiful replica, all in wood paneling, of the Penhaligon's shop in London on the ground floor of Saks Fifth Avenue. I had fond memories of "English Fern," so I went there to ask which of their fragrances could be considered the driest, least frivolous, and, more importantly, which would accommodate this stench of smoke that would not go away. The host of the Penhaligon's boutique was an Englishman, as is fitting. I remember he looked me straight in the eye across his spectacles, and through them I could see his eyes becoming glassy. "This might do," he said. And with that remark I was handed a mouillete sprayed in Blenheim Bouquet. The numbness that lingered all over New York for months did not encourage any sort of enthusiasm, so I just gave it a brief whiff: It smelled of wood smoke, like everything else, with a bit of pine and lemon. "Perfect. The largest size you have please, in an eau de toilette." "We have a 500ml" -"That will be fine. I'm sure I'll enjoy it. Thank you." Though I can't say I did in fact enjoy it, I used the entire 500ml decanter to the last drop. Its severity and seriousness was very precisely suited to the broken spirits of all and sundry: Encouraging to those who "kept calm, and carried on." It took me a year to empty the bottle: When that year was past, New York still smelled like smoke, and so did everything and everyone, except none of us noticed it any longer: We'd all grown accustomed to it. Faced with an empty bottle of Blenheim Bouquet, I again tried my own signature scent, which had lain forgotten in drawers and cabinets, and still, it wasn't right: Too French. Too romantic. I can't smell like this, I thought, and that's when I knew: Sitting at my dressing table with an enormous empty bottle looking in the mirror I saw it in my eyes. Something was just over. One month later, I left. I left New York. I moved away. I still have the empty bottle of Blenheim Bouquet, and every year, on September 11th, I uncork it and give it a whiff. Every year, my thoughts vary...I remember odd things: How people who had lost love ones would burn candles in their windows...all of the "Missing" photocopy signs pasted all over every surface that nobody ever had the courage to remove, so they just disintegrated over time, while we walked by them, day in, day out, and watched. This year, I thought of how beautiful the morning was, and marveled at how that September would be the very last one like it: The beauty of innocence and the thrill and promise of early Fall in New York City, where everything was possible. None of that ever came back the way it was. But Blenheim Bouquet hasn't changed: A kind of therapy. Some days I would get out of bed only because I knew I would have my moment with it. I would look forward to rubbing it all over my chest, because when I did, invariably I would think that at least something was beautiful...and unchanged...and just that little bit of courage, a hint of hope that certain things endure, very often got me through the day. September 11th, 2011

12nd September, 2011. (Last Edited: 22nd September, 2011.)

The opening of this seems like dowsing myself in pledge cleaner. Seriously. Lemon and pine, but not a lemon that I've come to associate with classic EdC's and the like. Maybe it is the pine notes mixed in, but it is just too heavy to begin. Mellows out a bit on drydown and becomes more of a faint woody citrus scent, but there is a clinging "BO" type thing about. Not at all pleasant. Longevity is rather poor and overall this is something that I could never see myself wearing.

26th August, 2011.

The opening tart lemon is a wonderful, clear and realistic rendition. Penhaligon's excels at these citrus notes, so that was not a surprise. It is joined by a smooth lavender which makes this opening a delight.
The pine that presents is not a sharp pine and is surrounded by an herbal greenness that give a slight musty sheen. It is very natural smelling, like a walk through a forest - no one note standing out, but a mixture of smells.
It is a simple fragrance, as I am sure it was always meant to be. Refined and straightforward. This smells very nice and would make a great office scent for the right gentleman.

5th July, 2011. (Last Edited: 17th December, 2011.)