Ajwa

Ajwa calls itself as a 'Muslim clothing and perfumes' shop, although that description doesn't capture the shop's pleasingly eclectic nature. Shop dummies in long robes nestle in among stacks of colourful children's books with such wonderful titles as 'Allah Gave Me a Nose to Smell', and the window is filled with dozens of elegant, glass-stoppered perfume bottles, filled with thick, dark, heavily-scented oils, glowing like stained glass.

The specialities here are musk and oudh (agarwood), of which there are a dozen varities apiece from all over the world. The man in the shop will decant 3, 6 or 12 millilitres of your chosen scent into a little glass bottle for you; he will also wait patiently while you sniff your way through his entire stock, providing a jar of coffee to clear your nose when required. Prices range from three pounds to 50 for the 3ml bottle.

I asked him to recommend a really heavy, dark musk, and he pointed me towards a bottle of something resembling molasses, labelled Japanese Musk. The smell was extraordinary - the darkest of the dark, with amber, frankincense, sandalwood and burnt sugar notes. It made me go 'Phwooaaaar!' and cost me five pounds. And it's even better on skin.

If you find yourself in the area I couldn't recommend a visit to this lovely shop more highly. Best of all, it's right by the spectacularly good New Tayyabs Pakistani restaurant, so you might as well get a curry while you're there.

Ajwa Retail
58 Fieldgate Street
Whitechapel
London E1 1ES

Bois Blond (Parfumerie Generale, 2007, Pierre Guillaume)

The perfume opens with light early summer grass, hints of citrus and fresh wood shavings. There is a note of very green, sappy wood and a hint of spice. This is a heady mixture, it is much brighter than I had expected given the strong presence of cedar. The spice remains and is joined by musk and a more aged wood as the perfume really dries down and warms to skin temperature. The mixture of wood, spices and musk almost evoke old-fashioned wax furniture polish, a rich scent with a little astringent sharpness. This sharpness mellows after an hour or so though a certain spice element remains. Though it isn't actually an ingredient I perceive a coriander undertone: spicy and deep yet not too obviously comestible. This combines with the cedar and musk to create a warm, slightly sweaty skin scent, which for me epitomises the height of summer. The smell of my own skin on a long, hot summer day is a constant source of satisfaction and this perfume really captures the masculine aroma and the spice of drying sweat.

As the day and the season wear on the scent settles with wet hay. It still has a hint of sweat though this element no longer comes to the fore. The whole fragrance settles for the rest of the day and toys with that boundary between perfect ripeness and the onset of decay. Towards the end there is a hint of the sweetness of silage and hay barns. This scent gently fades out as the night itself draws in.

Musc Ravageur (Frédéric Malle Editions de Parfums, 2000, Maurice Roucel)

Musk, cinnamon, tangerine, bergamot.

Musk Ravageur is a gloriously complex frangrance: all day long it evolves and matures through different, fascinating stages. I can't possibly put into words how interesting and multi-layered it is. What I can put into words, though, are the two notes that keep coming back and back and back, which are:

• one of those oranges with cloves stuck in it; and
• sweaty animal.

If that sounds disgusting, this perfume probably isn't for you, but I think it's wonderful. I'm going to stop wearing it in summer, though, since I keep reminding myself of Christmas.

Carnal Flower (Frédéric Malle Editions de Parfums, 2005, Dominique Ropion)

Tuberose, coconut, bergamot, jasmine, orange blossom, musk. Inspired by actor Candice Bergen. Contains the largest amount of tuberose absolute in any fragrance.

I've always had a love/hate relationship with tuberose. When I was a teenager I absolutely loved it and couldn't get enough of tuberose scented candles; a few years later I suddenly found it disgustingly sweet and couldn't go near the stuff. It's odd, then, that after a long fascination with the scent, yesterday I finally caved and bought a bottle of Carnal Flower.

Why would I buy a bottle of a smell I don't really like? I'm not sure. It's definitely sweet and heavily floral: two things that instantly put me off a perfume. And yet I like it, and I'm not sure why. Maybe it's because it's a bit dirty and musky; maybe it's because the coconut and jasmine make me think of long, relaxed evenings in warm climates. I don't know, but tonight, after a day walking around in the heat, I smell quite extraordinary: like you'd imagine tuberose-scattered bedsheets to smell after a night of sin, when all the flowers are starting to rot.

Right now, I really, really love this fragrance. But I wouldn't be surprised if, a few months down the road, I'll sniff myself and suddenly feel a bit sick. And then I'll have to give the bottle to somebody who likes florals.