Yesterday I reviewed D&G's The One which is perhaps the best cologne on the market for men. Today I am going to be talking about a slightly more obscure fragrance and a tale of intimidation, deathly bartering and a brand I can't seem to find existence of on the internet.

   One habit I have, which is to my personal detriment and has cost my a lot of money over the years, is my inability to walk past people who flag me down on the street usually with the intention of getting me to donate to a worthy charity or, on occasion, for "bus fair". On the occasion I refer to now I found, in my path, a burly Eastern European chap whose chest was probably as wide as I am tall. Having seemingly appeared from nowhere and blocking my path, for it would have taken about eight strides to circumnavigate this hulking man's broadness, I found myself eye to eye with a shaven headed, tattooed body builder with what looked to be hatred in his eyes. I was, to say the least, a little bit scared.

   I was certain that, like a troll guarding a bridge, the man was going to ask me to cross his palm with silver or folding paper to let me past yet the outcome was something entirely different; something which taught me the true nature of capitalism.

   Rather than threateningly request money from me the hulking man instead attempted to sell me a bottle of cologne known as Jukebox which, I must say, looked much cheaper than the £4 he was asking for. Alas, I acquiesced to his demands as I really wanted to get past him and order a steaming hot cappuccino in a trendy coffee shop. Yet, it soon materialised, this brutish looking stranger cared not about my hot drink appointment nor was he well versed in the art of negotiation.

   I handed the brick shit-house in front of me the £4 we had agreed upon and, as is the nature of transactions, I expected to receive, in return, the bottle of Jukebox he had just shown me. Instead his next move, which smacked of bravado, was something I completely did not expect. "Seven pounds" he bluntly said in an accent almost as broad as his shoulders. This took me by surprise and, although I had a fair amount of fear in my heart, I decided that I was not going to let this transpire - I was not willing to submit to brute force and surrender the freedom that Tony Blair had won for all of us. "We agreed four pounds," I calmly stated. "It is more than a fair price and it is the price we negotiated. I will give you four pounds and four pounds only."

   A small glean lit-up in the mammoth's eyes. I think it was compassion. Maybe it was the first time in his life he had heard someone stand their ground. Maybe it was impressed. He paused for a minute clearly trying to think of the correct way to express his embarrassment at trying to renege on a deal and consider the most eloquent way of saying this. Instead, in an increasingly angry voice he replied: "Seven pounds". Somehow I got away with paying five.

   As for Jukebox itself: the product came in a cheap plastic container with pink trim and blue neon font which looked like it belonged on a pair of Bermuda shorts from the 80s rather than anything one would willingly submit to being sprayed on their skin. The labeling probably should have helped me to understand exactly what to expect from the cologne which smelt like gingivitis and more than likely caused kidney stones.

WEAR THIS
Only if you are scared of being assaulted by eight foot tall brutes.