How, I wonder, could I have missed this piece of essential information for the world of journalism? The New York Times has a perfume critic.
True, the appointment is now nearly three years old, but hey, some news takes time to filter through and it's always worth saving the best until last.

But a perfume critic? In a newspaper? The perfectly named Chandler Burr, one of those roll-off-the-tongue American names which sound like parcels or marker posts for remote villages, is indeed the incumbent of this post. Every so often, his column sniffs the latest and then distils the top ten smells for a breathless public.

Just think of the sheer, unbridled luxury of a newspaper that has a correspondent for absolutely everything. I'm sure that's what the JC is missing. We need a perfume critic. I love the smell of burning chopped and fried fish in the morning...