Fruity, primarily raspberry, incense blast that fades to an amber-sandalwood-slightly earthy, slightly medicinal finish.

Interestingly, for a perfume that features fruit notes, there's no cloying sweetness here, and it's dry as a bone. This astringency is the core characteristic of the perfume. Incense is very prominent in the opening but turns more subtle during the drydown, emerging in wafts throughout the day.

I wasn't hugely impressed the first time I wore this, but it has grown on me, primarily because it is so spare, so aloof, and even though the constituent notes are far from unique, the way they are presented gives this a distinct character of its own.

This doesn't suggest anything cosmic to me, or actually conjure up any immediate mental images or emotional associations. It's a pretty cerebral creation, and I like this a lot more than I initially thought. Long lasting, intermittently powerful, worth investigating.

A fragrance that seems expressly designed for the hottest of summer days, this opens with white citrus florals, with jasmine particularly noticeable, then progresses to a slightly leathery- black tea combo, the florals darker and more subdued, mixed with a hint of pine, before ending on an earthy patchouli note. It's very light, almost effortless, and it blossoms in the heat.

The blurb for this perfume talks about Villa Nellcote's past, when it was occupied by the gestapo, but also how it became a hippy haven ( the Rolling Stones recorded Exile on Main Street there), which suggests there should be an uneasy balance of light and dark in the fragrance. I don't get that at all: instead it reminds me of lying on a lawn, on the sort of day when the sky is intensely blue and the sun high and unfettered above, eyes closed, catching the small of the garden around me, and the dry, baked earth beneath the grass.

I like this a lot, and don't at all regret blind buying a full bottle (it was on offer), but there's an apparent mismatch between the intent and the actual fragrance. And I can't help but think that the intent might have resulted in something a little more challenging and ultimately interesting that what's been presented here, lovely though it may be.

Utterly bonkers creation from Christophe Laudamiel.

It opens with an utterly huge blast of green rhubarb, but this quickly morphs into something else - pistachio, citrus, dry grass, even a hint of something creamy and vanillic. Then the rhubarb roars back again before changing into something different once more. It's sweet and tart at the same time, and has never smelt quite the same on every occasion I've worn it.

It's also very persistent and strong, and will cling to clothing for days once applied - spare application is required.

It took me a little while to love this perfume, but love it I now do. Too strong for summer perhaps, but ideal for spring when there's still that touch of coolness in the air.

Breath of God is one of those perfumes that comes brandishing its reputation before it, like some leperous figure shouting, "Unclean! Unclean!"

In actuality, it's nowhere near as fearsome as its reputation suggests. The opening is dense and heavy smoked fruit, which smells almost gourmand-like. The smoke intensifies and recedes, at times threatening to become overwhelming, but it always backs off at the last moment. Rose pokes through. There's a strong blast of vetiver. Finally, it simmers down to a lulling amber incense and stays that way for several hours. This drydown is the least interesting part of the creation: it's like a slightly less refined version of the notes you would commonly associate with a Serge Lutens.

I remember buying Lush's first commercially produced perfume, a sticky, sickly lemon thing that smelled like melted, condensed boiled sweets, and to have progressed from that to this, which is almost harshly virtuosic, is an enormous leap in both technical skills and imagination.

Oddly, this would almost almost work as a summer perfume, but the incense is ultimately a little too dense for that. Ideal for autumn and winter though.

Utterly abstract fragrance that simultaneously smells very alien while at the same time is suggestive of so many different things.

First off, it smells very yellow. And that's not just because I know mimosa is one of the notes. A single whiff of this and that's the singular colour that comes to mind, a deep, intense yellow. It also smells hot and dusty, but this isn't the hot dustiness of an arid landscape: it's the glassy and metallic lustre of a hot light bulb,or a fan heater blasting out warmth on a cold winter's day. The wine note present is somehow also marine, but it's the sea in the distance, with only the slightest suggestion of it carried on a breeze. Above all, this is astonishingly airy and suggestive of vast, wide open spaces, but it's the space of an unused storage warehouse or an unoccupied office block. As for wood, I get none.

This is quite unlike any perfume I've encountered, and had Christophe Laudamiel not discontinued his Zoo line, it would be backup bottle worthy.

Spicy, leathery gingerbread at the outset that swiftly turns into a very potent dark rose. This gradually diminishes, turns slighty medicinal in the drydown, then there's a soft, pleasant incense to round it off.

This is a perfectly acceptable scent, and that intense rose core is very striking, but overall that's not enough to make this creation particularly noteworthy, pleasant though it is.

The opening is salty and mineral and seaweedy. This isn't the still scent of a tropical beach somewhere, it's somewhere more exposed, on a north sea coast, sliding shingled stone underfoot, and with a bitter wind blustering around you, the sea blue-black and choppy.

That briney, somewhat vegetal tang never fully leaves throughout the scent's lifetime. It does grow darker though, definitely a heavy woodiness, but it's decaying driftwood, drenched in the ocean and thrown up in a coastal cove somewhere, still cold and wet, and with the sea's scent permeating its structure. It's very musky too, the combined effect of artificial oud and ambergris, I guess.

Revived for the third time, quite how this distinctly polarising creation ended up in Tom Ford's Signature Collection must be down to the fact that those who love it REALLY love it, and the company forsee this group driving sales for the forseeable future. Though, frankly, I would not be at all surprised if it it falls by the wayside yet again.

Which would be a proper shame: it's my favourite of the current Tom Ford line, by several light years, and a reminder that the house used to take really quite bold risks with their releases. Savour it while you can.

Almost archetypal CDG cedarwood, mixed with pine, frankincense and patchouli. The obligatory obligatory house style left field notes come into play as well, in the form of a grey, metallic tang, and something that reminds me of nearly-dry gloss paint.

If you are at all familiar with the CDG range, there aren't many surprises here. It's pretty linear, obviously designed to appeal to a fairly mainstream audience, but is none the worse for that. Apart from an uncharacteristically strong opening, it has the airiness and lightness you would associate with the brand, and it while it won't revolutionise your world, it's still an attractive, slighly off-kilter scent. Suitable for most occasions, apart from the height of summer.