I think I’m being stalked. By Jo Malone. You may recall my one and only trip to Harvey Nicks in September to buy some Pomegranate Noir for Mrs P’s birthday. While still in a state of shock at the cost, I filled in a form with my details on auto-pilot and the woman hasn’t let me be since.
It started with an offer of a hand massage or somesuch. I suspect there had been something of a marketing breakdown and they hadn’t clocked that I was a bloke, but then there’s no telling these days. Next it was the odd billet-doux to tempt me to purchase more (no discounts I might add), but, as 25 December approaches, Jo has gone full on with glossy brochures landing on the doormat and emails beating the spam trap.
Don’t get me wrong, it’s good stuff. Mrs P smells great when she wears it and we’d quite like to buy one of Jo’s smelly candles for my sisters at Christmas, but they are so bloody expensive. At £38 you’d think they would burn for a while, but apparently not according to a colleague who says they fizzle out pretty quickly.
I would buy Mrs P the Perfume Wardrobe for Christmas. I would be in Brownie points until at least July, but at £590, the kids would have to make do with a tangerine and nuts in the bottom of the pillow case and nothing else, except a pomegranate if they’re lucky.