Close observers of this column will note that last week we touched on the conflict in the Congo, as you would expect a beauty column to do. This week we are going to move on to Darfur, mainly because this will, I hope, result in a picture of George Clooney being on this page (he’s been talking to Gordon Brown about the situation there), and it seems to me that George Clooney and beauty products are what Saturdays should be all about.

I would, of course, give all the beauty products in Christendom for a date with George, but short of that, what I’d really like is for him to tell me if he likes my perfume.

This is a subject that has been troubling me. I have always been a straight-down-the-line Chanel girl: Allure by day, Coco by night. I scoffed at a former colleague, a self-confessed perfume slut, who agonised daily over which perfume to wear. Life’s too short, I told her. Lots of perfumes is like lots of handbags – it just complicates matters.

Then I realised that the last person who told me I smelt nice was an ex-boyfriend in approximately 320BC. So off I went with a friend to Fenwick, where we smelt so many perfumes we felt sick, and I panicked and bought Hermès Eau des Merveilles (£43.50, 0800 1234000) because it seemed a step on the road to a Birkin bag, but turned out to give me a headache.

So I was back to square one. Givenchy Very Irrésistible (£29.50, 01932 233824) is lovely but too pink for my dressing table. (Blue bedroom. It’s a problem.) I thought Estée Lauder Private Collection Tuberose Gardenia (£50, www.esteelauder.co.uk) was pure class but, on me, it got the thumbs down from everyone. Santa Maria Novella Acqua di Colonia Classic (£52, 020-7460 6600) is a delight but a bit summery for year-round use; and I won’t buy anything from Jo Malone because her “perfume combining” schtick irritates me, and who wants to smell of basil anyway?

The truth of the matter, if I look into the dark recesses of my soul, the bit where Serious Opinions should be, is that perfume bores me. I can think about all the nuances of tinted moisturiser for ages. It’s how I know that Chantecaille’s raved-about Real Skin (£44, 020-8740-2085) is too barely-there for me, but its Future Skin (£49) is genius and, once I’ve got over how much it costs, I’m excited about trying its new Just Skin (£52). It’s why I’ve had lengthy disputes with a friend who insists I should get over my dislike of Clarins’ packaging and embrace the products within. But perfume? Perfume shouldn’t be a problem. Perfume should just be. So for the time being I’m sticking with the Chanel. George hasn’t got back to me yet, but when he does I’ll let you know.

Sarah Vine is away

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