Lavender Fields - A Souvenir from Cornwall - Candle Review

I arrived, 2 full bottles of London Pride in, from Paddington to St Austell. Sluggish and fatigued, having given up my reserved seat for a pregnant lady halfway down. She thanked three times separately, all of which were considerably heart-felt. The man on the food and drinks trolley rewarded me with a free kit kat. The universe had spoken.

It's a five minute walk down the archaic streets of St Austell from the train station to the White Horse Hotel. The barman Michel, from Slovakia, looks hurried and stressed, despite only having 4 patrons at the bar, including myself. "Need the thingy from the thingy?" He enquired, meaning the receipt from the PDQ machine after I ordered a pint of Proper Job and a medium bowl (although I'm told the medium is fantastically large) of bangers and mash.

"I'm all good for thingy's," I said and went upstairs to my room. The room had a tilt much like a villain's lair from a 60s Batman episode. The one exposed electrical socket took none of my adapters, and the only free working socket was completely blinkered by the bedpost. I heaved

the bed across just enough to gain access, and plug in my phone. The tiniest bar of soap I've ever seen, had luxury written on it.

I sent the photos to my wife. She writes back. "That's a South African socket, and they need to re-think the word luxury."

What the f*ck are they doing with a South African socket in a Cornish hotel?

Michel proceeds to tell me that he is still in love with his ex, but prefers his single life and he has no problem getting action with the ladies. A well-heeled gentleman in the corner, eating something healthy, and reading Barack Obama's memoir has had enough of Michel's braggadocious tales. He excuses himself and leaves.

The next day I walk to the Saint Austell Brewery and pick out some local Biltong, some Cornish Vodka, and a candle for my sister. St Eval, Lavender Fields.

The Hype

Terracotta pots warmed by the sun, soft soil beneath the nails, and herb leaves crushed between thumb and forefinger. Housed in beautifully crafted stoneware pots - thoughtfully reimagined from our beloved Victorian Herb Pots. Gently tapered and softly speckled, their ribbed finish catches the light like hand-thrown clay.

●  Burn Time: up to 44 hours

●  Size: 10cm x 11cm

●  Fragrance: Lavender Fields

●  Fragrance Description: Glorious lavender & an easy demeanour.

●  Pack Size: 1 per pack

Terracotta pots warmed by the sun, soft soil beneath the nails, and herb leaves crushed between thumb and forefinger. Rosemary, thyme, and mint sing from the garden path.

The Word on the Street

I have had these before and love the smell of lavender, a very sweet smell. Use in the bedroom.

Trusted Customer. My thoughts

Gorgeous unbridled heaps of lavender lapped around my parents bungalow at the north end, encouraging swarms of bees to pollinate gayly. This was sometime ago now, and when I close my eyes, I can for a brief second see them. Smell them when I open the games room window. The bees would make it impossible for me to frolic around the top lawn, they had become quite territorial about their patch of lavender groves. As well they should be. The only part of the unspoiled. The lavenders are all gone now. Made way for the development of my Sister and her family's annex, built on as a joined structure to my mothers bungalow. It's inevitable, the space

was just too capacious and without rules, to survive without some kind of reward for its upkeep. My sister wanted to call her new house Lavender Grove, but that's been vetoed by the council and I'm not too familiar with the jawbreaking minutia of it all. I don't so much miss the lavender as I do those hours spent on my own, playing pool in the games room, completely enveloped in a ring of lavender. The hum of bees fighting and gnarring on the windowpanes.