My first love was L'Eglise, which reminded me of my old school chapel, quiet and dark and smelling like myrrh and frankincense. Wooden booths that covered the sides and pews that stretched out in neat orderly rows, sandstone walls, gilded edges. I lit it for the first time in the blue mountains and curled up in front of a fire and thought of home. My second was Le Sud, firstly because of the hit of lavender, and then because of the lavender, and then because of the lavender. It really does smell like the south of France, like this. And my third love, set to become a new favourite, La Rose. I lit it for the first time just now, and, it is nothing more or less than what Elise said; a bouquet of roses. Candles are one of the great small pleasures of life, a touch of luxury that is simple and uncomplicated, yet ephemeral and visceral, as all luxury should be. But the best thing about candles, which allows them to - in my brooks - trump champagne, or chocolate, or any other of those small pleasures that life dangles before us on so many occasions, is that the memory of them - that waxy feel, that fragrant smell, that smoky wick - will last forever.