"I say, Jeeves, I was just about to slap on some of the jolly old lotion, but I can't seem to lay my digits on my Signoricci or my Bowling Green, my Marlborough or my Blenheim Bouquet. Have you seen them?"
"Indeed I have, sir. I last saw them when I placed them in the rubbish, where I thought it best to deposit them."
"But, dash it all, Jeeves, those are all deucedly fine scents - essence of the Englishman, skylarks and summer, flannelled fools, country house japes, sauntering through Mayfair with Biffy Montague-Evans, etc."
"Fine scents indeed, sir, but I fear they all rather fade into insignificance compared with the discontinued and virtually unattainable Cotswold by Dukes of Pall Mall, a bottle of which I have just placed on your dressing table."
"Cotswold? Dukes of Pall Mall? Never heard of it. Where did you get it, Jeeves?"
"Well, sir, I believe we owe thanks to the estimable Mr. Good-Life for making it known to Basenotes and for writing a first and excellent review. It so happens that I have managed to secrete a few bottles of this elixir away for my personal use and so it seemed a tad churlish to deny my employer a taste of this olfactory delight. It really does constitute a zenith of unpretentious citrus perfection - pure, unalloyed, simultaneously soothing and uplifting, a veritable epitome of skylarks and summer, flannelled fools, and rolling English hills. And yet there is more. Through some extraordinary artistry, Dukes of Pall Mall succeeded in giving to Cotswold an intricate developing theme that would make most niche perfumiers gnash their teeth with envy. For, melting into the citrus, in the most natural and unassuming way, are ' a jasmine base - it contains Yland and other fleur blanche, whilst a hint of woods binds a fragrance that is both embracing and aromatic.' Yet this added dimension - which would surely make Mr. Oscar Wilde blanch with the beauty of it - is blended so perfectly with the dominant citrus tone that it does not jar in the slightest but remains at all times clean, light, and fresh. Thus it achieves the rare feat of pleasing both aesthetes and sportsmen, eccentricity and convention, Mr. Wilde and the Marquis of Queensbury."
"It sounds fairly spiffing, Jeeves, but what if my Aunt Agatha doesn't like it? You know how particular she is. If she doesn't like it, she might cut my allowance."
"I assure you, sir, one whiff of Cotswold and your Aunt Agatha is certain to double your allowance."