Penhaligon’s, Juniper Sling
They arrived with their trunks and their servants, starched whites, and polished buckles to instill their idea of civilization on wilder parts of the world. Shuttered in their private gardens they sip gin cocktails before noon, and speak in voices so low they are impossible to spy on. And believe me, we tried, My grandfather tells us every year about how he fell out of a tree and skinned both knees trying to understand the English. Wherever they went they built walls, with their stiff hat brims, prim and glistening, and those muffled giggles behind paper white palms.