An older lady called Florence was struggling with her sense of smell. “It does deteriorate as you get older,” confirmed John Stephen, a perfumer and course tutor, somewhat morbidly. I, meanwhile, discovered that I am anosmic to (unable to smell) sandalwood.

Florence and I were on the Cotswold perfumery course, one of the few places in the country where you can learn to make scent, and a romp for any fragrance fanatic like me. My initial concept was to create something like my beloved Ce Soir ou Jamais, by Annick Goutal: rose underscored by animal musk, a warm cocoon of fleshy pinkness. I droppered in a little musk, a little ambergris and a lot of rose otto. But to this, I made the mistake of adding civet, the yellowish, fatty secretion from the anal glands of big cats. Too much and you’re doomed, reckoned John. He was right. I spent the next 20 minutes desperately trying to expunge the smell of ripe cat faeces (the story of my life) from my little bottle of scent. To no avail. Strike one.

I decided to create another favourite, Comme des Garçons 2. Patchouli, check. Clove, check. Cinnamon, check. This concoction, though, ended up smelling like cough mixture. It was safer to stick to one of John’s blueprints, so, finally, I created Zing, a tart citrus fragrance designed to scent my car and keep me awake on long journeys. My brother scoffed: “You fragrance idealist. The next thing you know, you’ll be creating a perfume for Jordan. Every time she smells it, it’ll quell her urge to seek publicity.” I wish.

For details of John Stephen’s Cotswold perfumery course, call 01451 820698 or visit www.cotswold-perfumery.co.uk

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