Mrs Lords – No Gentleman’s Gentleman.

This is the third and final review of the Mrs Lords range please click on the links below to read parts one and two:

Part one:

Part two:

It had taken several sharpeners to roust my Adonisian splendor from a fitful slumber after the night of mysterious miasma’s or phantasmagorical fog.

My mind insisted on recalling that wonderful weekend I had spent at Mrs Lords country pile and yet why?

This state of general puzzlement was overtaken by my perilous financial situation and the need to remedy it post haste by meeting with Don Nawtxi Snouffle, that notorious Andorran truffle magnate.

Arriving early at 4 we had planned for a leisurely sauna, liberally interspersed by several dips in the frigidarium, it does wonders for the constitution, or so they say, not to mention carefully calculated negotiations.

The old goat had a brace of rare, scarlet truffles for sale, which I knew a certain chef wanted for an especially important royal patron, when he named a price so obscene that even Salome would have blushed, I naturally demurred nonchalantly until I had secured a solid 10% for the gourmands retirement fund.

We sat in those tiny, sopping wet towels, sweating like snowmen in the sahara, Don Nawtxi’s appallingly awful toe cheddar coupled with the inane banter about his latest conquests festered inside the sauna and so even after repeated visits to the frigidarium, I was almost panting for a good vape.

I asked the foetid old fox if he would join me in a stiffener and a cheeky vape before we dressed for dinner and the rank old rogue immediately rang the bell for a butler.

We were about to shake hands on the trifling, truffle transaction when the doors opened to admit a man that looked curiously familiar.

I got as far as “I say…” when the fact that the insufferable Smythe was standing in front of me yet again, rendered me unconcious with rage, or so I thought.

In actual fact the bloody butler had thrown a tray of G&T’s along with a selection of vapes and assorted liquids at my head with all too much accuracy.

Picking my personage up after the unanticipated fracas, I ran after the oily oik catching him right between the staircase and the main door, his eyes flashed with anger as he turned and drew an umbrella from the stand like a bloodthirsty hussar unsheathing a sabre.

I reacted by ripping off my dripping rag of a towel and attacking immediately, whipping and flicking the wet cotton at a rapidly retreating Smythe. He fenced well and mounted the stairs even as I pressed home my advantage with astonishing ferocity, with the benefit of hindsight… it may well have been in sheer shock that I was still pursuing him with just a bath sheet, in my birthday suit?

Nevertheless, things came to quite the crescendo when we entered the dining room and the resourceful canard grabbed a matching set of flaming victorian crumpet forks… only to throw them directly at my norks.

I barely managed to entangle them in my towel mid flail and thankfully the gourmand family jewels survived for another day, I grabbed at whatever was nearest in a terrified riposte, only to lob a lobster at the lout.

While I apologised profusely to the previous owner of the crustacean… a Monsignor no less, the slippery Smythe ran off and after an unfortunate bow that caused further uproar throughout the entire dining room, I stupidly followed the villain up the stairs.

Dodging the flying ferns, antique urns and an entire suit of armour, only redoubled my efforts to collar the heel and give him a good shoeing.

I vaguely remember my nose breaking as he slammed the door to the roof garden behind him. Enraged I eventually cornered the malevolent manservant overlooking the cobbles and checking to ensure my towel was now firmly fastened, moved in to finish him off.

The Geneva Convention was abandoned as we exchanged haymakers, Glasgow kisses, donkey bites and even Chinese burns, grappling and struggling in the gathering dusk. After tussling for what seemed like hours, his left foot slipped on the gravel and I managed an uppercut that knocked him up onto the parapet, where as if in slow motion… he began to topple over the edge.

In an uncommon moment of remorse, I reached out my hand to grab his… finally I had the upper hand, the upper most of upper hands. Something clicked in my brain, so I loosened my grip ever so slightly and casually stated to the sinking Smythe, “It was you last night… you rotter!”

His eyes flashed with a murderous glint but with astonishing self control he merely nodded in agreement.

“Tell you what old chap” I said with an evil smile, even as my arm went numb with his weight, “let me try one of those liquids, won’t you?

“Now…sir?” inquired the butler in a tone that could only be described as infuriatingly together for a man in his present predicament.

“No time like the present” said I, as cool as a Siberian summer breeze even as the sweat rolled in rivers down my forehead and the adrenaline began to wear off.

With quite the wriggle and dance the bloody butler managed to fill the vaping apparatus and pass it heavenwards, I pressed down on the firing button and inhaled, mmmm Custard cream if I was not not mistaken?

I made sure to vape the lot, savouring every last custardy puff.

“Meh” I lied unashamedly, “I’m bored… have you anything else?” concentrating hard to ignore the growing pains in my arm and that beautiful biscuity aftertaste torturing my tastebuds.

“Anything else” repeated the insolent savage with a discombobulating amount of self control, “of course, what would sir prefer?”

“Why not a good absinthe?” said I… equally as sarcastically, loosening my grip a smidgeon to emphasise my love of the green fairy.

The man magically produced another bottle called Druide out of the air and then proceeded to fill the vape… finishing with a most vexatious, devil may care flourish.

Mmm that was good, the anise and the liquorice combined with a hint of the wormwood danced across my palate, a deliciously, decadent reminder of a certain little cabaret in Berlin, I thought to myself momentarily distracted.

“Not entirely bad” I lied again to the now white faced serpent, “but you really must try harder”.

The snake was as silent as his reptilian forefathers, even as my arm straightened to remind him just how truly merciless a mistress gravity can be, nevertheless, the refilled vape was back in my hand within seconds.

Liquorice this time, exactly like those curious little Pontrefact cakes, amazing just how astonishingly different it was compared to the Druide and yet… equally delicious.

Smythe had not uttered a single superfluous word, had yet to apologise or attempt to beg for his miserable soul, so even as all feeling left my arm, I demanded another delicious flavour.

“Another?” came the outrageously calm reply.

I simply handed down the vaping apparatus once again rather than dignifying such an annoyingly restrained riposte with a response.

Within seconds I was sucking down some Sarsparilla, now let us be clear here, the temperance movement holds no attractions for a man of my Bacchanalian appetites yet I loved it, some may argue that root beer or dandelion and burdock are stronger and better but to me it tasted of victory pure and simple.

So much so that it may have affected my stubborn disposition as the more i thought that this gentleman’s gentleman was no gentleman, the more I was forced to consider that here was exactly the man for me. Anyone who could deal with my vaping demands with such aplomb in such a precarious position could never ever be left to the deadly embrace of gravity.

And that is how the indispensable and unscrupulous Smythe (or as he is known online /u/Eternal_Sunshine) became my butler.

For further details on these most interesting of elixirs and the new vaping “apparatus” please do follow the link:

Rating: a carefully restored Constable.

Due to the violent nature of my vaping, I simply cannot be sure of the wicking materials, the wattage or the exact nicotine content enjoyed during that fateful encounter.


The phantasmagorical liquids of Mrs Lords

Part one of the Mrs Lords review:

Part two:

It was a cold winter’s morning as I trudged forlornly down the long drive… now an outcast from a warm and loving country house. I could hear the quiet cackling laughter floating down from on high as that vaping bounder Don Gourmand revelled in my sudden misfortune.

I knew in my heart of hearts that he had stolen Mrs Lord’s e liquids but could not prove how and so I resolved to have my revenge. Instead of taking the first train up to London, I elected to return to the manor later that night to quietly purloin some new juices from Mr’s Lord’s laboratory. Then with the help of a friendly station master, some brown paper, a length of twine and two first class stamps I managed after a fashion to take the 5.20 am mail train to London.

I secured employment and lodgings at the Andorran gentleman’s club (an oxymoron if ever there was one) and within weeks had been promoted to head butler, quietly spending my days off tracking down the elusive Don Gourmand.

The cad seemed to spend his days travelling around Europe sampling juices, enjoying fine dining at the expense of others and his nights seducing foreign beauties when not imbibing far too much claret or playing at cards. The man was a chancer, but I must admit quite the character to boot, damn his rotten soul.

I finally discovered where he called home, late one dreary February evening, when after a long stay in Paris he returned to a modest townhouse in Earl’s court. I spent the rest of the night observing him settling in, from an uncomfortable sycamore tree in his back garden.

It was then I realised, just how I was going to repay his dastardly deeds in full.

I finished work just after midnight and made my way back to the Gourmands garden where I slithered up inside a large Rhodedendron bush and made preparations to enact the first part of my plan.

Carefully filling the lemo to the brim with a bottle labelled Summer pudding, I began to vape heartily enjoying a fruity dessert liquid, blowing the billowing plumes right underneath the bounders bedroom window. It was a glorious vape, full of sun ripened brambly fruits of the forest and perhaps the meadow? I must have vaped the entire tank before the bedroom window was flung open and my falstaffian foe appeared.

I stopped vaping immediately and watched as the rambunctious rogue sniffed and snorted, vainly trying to identify the source of such wonderous aromas. “I say, what is that pulchritudinous pong assailing my hooter? It’s like a frolic through the woods in summer, it almost smells familiar?” muttered the most perplexed plonker.

Unable to accurately locate the source, the frazzled fop soon retired to his boudoir once again and I once again filled my lemo with a bottle of the delicious Gringrods Parkin. A clove studded treacly treat long celebrated in the North of England, it was sure to provoke insatiable curiosity and uncurable insomnia in even the most unconscionable blackguard.

Sure enough after only ten mouthwatering minutes, the louche lecher’s head appeared out his window, his snout snorting the air in the most porcine manner. “I say, that smells divine, almost like those curious breakfast oatcakes I tasted when I last visited Mrs Lords. Damn and blast it, where is that smell coming from?”

I lay back against the bough and chuckled quietly into my sleeve, waiting until the larcenous lothario had retired to his bed once more before I fired up the lemo and vaped away with unparalleled abandon.

The window slammed open against the wall with such a clatter, I almost fell from my perch in fright, as once again I heard the lounge lizard loudly demanding to know where these wonderful smells were coming from? After several minutes of pleading entreaties ending in some unrepeatable cursing he once more returned to his bed.

Feeling peckish, I unwrapped a ploughman’s supper and supped on a bottle of Mr Guinesses finest porter listening to my nemesis pacing up and down awaiting another opportunity to discover the source of such scintillating scents.

When he finally relaxed and the first small snores reached my ears I refilled the lemo with some Seville marmalade and proceeded to vape what seemed to be an entire preserved orangerie. It was marvellous, personally I should have preferred a little more carmelized peel, but then I was accustomed to the cheaper marmalades and not the high quality fare that the Lords loved.

The window slammed open once more but this time it came off its hinges with a nerve shattering shriek and fell into the daffodils. “Blast it… these bloody magnificent miasma’s are driving me round the bend!” I watched with undisguised glee as the gormless gourmand groaned in despair as his nose inhaled that superb Seville marmalade and yet still could not identify its source.

Again I waited until he went to get dressed and rescue his broken window before I quietly slipped out of his garden through the back gate and made my way through the sleepy streets of central London back to my lodgings.
I resolved to return again the following night and torture the gourmand with the remaining liquids, he would never sleep soundly again, his dreams haunted forever by unknown delights, never to be tasted, sampled or enjoyed.

Big Ben struck 4 before I fell sound asleep, the taste of Sevillian sunshine still reverberating blissfully on my tongue.

To be continued…

Mrs Lords liquids are now available to all discerning clients and light fingered itinerant butlers via website at

Rating: An original JS Lowry

Thenancara – or lost in translation.

“The Opera”… two words that strike fear into the heart of a grown man, only surpassed by “the accused” or “paternity test”, worse still… when uttered by a mad uncle.

I had been running around Paris translating for the black sheep of the family, who had filled several containers with antique furniture, at hugely inflated prices for dealers in Shanghai and Singapore.

I vaped to calm myself before the ordeal ahead when I realised not only was I on juice fumes, my battery was also dangerously low. I told the dinosaur that I would meet him at the Opera and ran off down the street, towards a little vapoterie I know.

Quel disastre, it was closed.

I managed to get to the opera early, which allowed me exactly one stealth vape and one dreadful dry hit outside the magnificent Palais de l’Opera.

My eye was caught by a striking young French lady and I walked straight into one of those ornate pillars. Her lilting laugh turned heads, but before I had a chance to investigate further, my crazy uncle berthed alongside me and said “you look tired and need of a good meal, but first young man, some food for the soul, hurry up!”

It was during the middle of the first act when I discovered that in the midst of all the commotion outside, I had mislaid or lost my trusty cana. Quel horreur, my skin crawled… a night at the opera with mon oncle, without a soothing vape, could prove to be a tougher than the tour de France on a tricycle.

Quaffing some interesting “Champagne” during the intermission, I heard that lilting laugh again, from directly behind me, as I turned to identify the source, my uncles elbow appeared in my way, emptying what was left of his glass, all over my jacket.

Escaping his apologies, I fled to the sanctuary of the men’s room to restore my jacket under the hand dryer. Matters were in hand within minutes and I strolled back to the bar thinking perhaps a quick stiffener was in order, when I noticed my uncle had bumping into that Parisienne. Her sea green eyes brimming with mischief as she brazenly puffed away on an eGo one.

The smell of a good vape drifted across the now empty room… “What are you vaping?” asked my urbane uncle of the mademoiselle. She smiled and shrugged and I groaned inwardly as my uncle produced a notebook and scribbled furiously. He ripped off the note and handed it to the Beauty to read. whatareyouvaping.

And then she graciously, handed over her stealth vape. He smiled, bowed and proceeded to vape away with a beatific smile on his face and a terrible twinkle in his eye.

Another scrawled note later


this vision took him by the hand… led the crazy old coot slowly upstairs and stopping at door that was almost invisible, pulled him inside. I quietly followed behind, trying to make sense of what exactly was happening? Slipping through the door, I hid behind some chairs and watched as the mysterious French woman strode across the strange room to open the curtains at the far wall and voila, the odd couple were looking down directly at the stage.

We were in the space where you normally expect to find the phantom, I thought trying to avoid whiplash by looking around carefully and making sure there were no murderous organ players.

Once I calmed down, I remarked that the acoustics were perfect, I found myself enjoying an opera for the first time ever, but the spectacle unfolding in front of me was even more interesting.

After another crude drawing


they agreed to share his drink and her vape.
I watched like a despicably dirty voyeur as they continued the oldest and most intimate dance known to mankind… using only a pen and paper.

They passed the vape back and forth as I began to inhale as much of the floating clouds as possible, I really, really missed my trusty cana.

Using my opera glasses I watched enviously as a bottle of Paradisio was removed from its velvet pouch, opened and decanted into the vape. It smelt divine, a very good hazelnut followed by what I would call chocolate liquor (not Chocolate liqueur) rather than a dry cocoa. There were wisps of vapour with vague hints of coffee and some gingerish caramel surfing alongside it all. It sounds perfectly straightforward and yet managed to be anything but. I inhaled the drifting vapour like a drowning man sucks on air as he rises for the third and final time. Think Nutella or Ferrero rocher with a twist from the Riddler.

The enchantress giggled softly as she almost dropped the bottle of Shinshiro, its aroma was somewhere east of classic Coca Cola mixed with what can only be described as Irn Bru or Frescolita. So kola nuts, some top secret spices and I suspect iron, violets, a hint of ginger, tangerine and who knows what else? It almost drove me crazy trying to identify what exactly was going on. Imagine cola bottles made by a French Willy Wonka and a team of Scottish Oompa Loompa’s in a secret lab hidden inside a Venezuelan Volcano. I emptied my lungs and vainly attempted to absorb all of the tantalising plumes, almost coughing with the exertion and betraying my presence to the operatic pair.

Thankfully they were still unaware of my imitation of a vacuum as they proceeded to open a bottle of aptly named Antarctica together, this was a mint wrapped in cane sugar hiding a sub zero blast of menthol and if I am not mistaken… raspberry, a definite summer soother. Its sinus clearing, tongue freezing mentholated mintyness coupled with the cheekiest of berries would be perfect for the long hot days of July and August. Indeed it could even serve as the perfect tonic for even the most homesick of jam addicted penguins.

The fragrant demoiselle grabbed the notepad as the last solo ended and she spent quite a moment drawing something before passing it to my uncle. He reddit, smiled and shook her hand and handed her his business card. He then got up and left the room with a wave and a bow.

The young lady pouted then crumpled up the note only to angrily storm out of the room and I almost dying of curiosity, quietly crept out from behind my concealing stack of chairs to find it.


Shaking my head in disbelief at how this shrewd businessman had missed such an obvious invitation I walked down the stairs, in a state of minor shock.

“Ah, there you are Don, I hope you enjoyed the opera? I met the most interesting young lady and spent the evening underneath the roof, watching the show and vaping some delightful French e liquids” said the geriatric ladykiller, with a sly grin and a demented twinkle in his eye.

“I would have loved to have gotten to know her better, if you know what I mean?” he burbled with a suave elbow into my ribs that made me groan aloud both in pain and despair at his ignorance.

“What I don’t understand is just how she knew I was into antique furniture?” he asked me as I first gaped and then groaned again in amazement at his missed opportunity.

All liquids were vaped using a shared eGo one, and several one ohm coils, by my lunatic uncle sitting oblivious at the right hand of a mysterious French goddess.

Avoid idiot savant uncles, operas and missed opportunities by checking out and confound your tastebuds for aeons attempting to ascertain what divine madness inspires these juices.

Rating: Don Giovanni.