For his 60th birthday my father gave himself a turreted pavilion. It was built to his exacting vision and situated in a corner of the garden between green avenues and vistas, surrounded by a small moat, across which lay a little wooden bridge, which could be wound up by a mechanical pulley.
One day, showing a group of Japanese visitors around the garden, my father strode across the bridge leaving the visitors on the other side to watch as my father theatrically showed off his pulley system, winding up the little bridge. Unfortunately, about half way, the pulley failed and bridge remained stuck upright. The Japanese stood politely on one side of the moat wondering if this was part of the show, as my father stood on the other side wondering how the hell he was going to get back across the water.
The Pavilion over looks the secret rose garden that my father planted. Capturing the smell of warm English rain, freshly mown grass and rose and peony petals I bottled the fragrance of that garden.
(P.S. – You can buy it through your style ambassador or online at indiahicks.com)