Brut Farce

Oh my god. People still wear Brut. I was getting onto a train at Hammersmith last night, when I got a whiff of the legendary fragrance wafting from the neck of some (presumably, unless gender boundaries have been completely eroded) fella.
Instantly, I was right back in my teenage bedroom: posters of big-titted pop bimbo Sabrina staring down at me from the walls; spots blossoming on my greasy little chin; and an arsenal of Brut products lined up on my shelf: roll-on, spray, aftershave, shower gel: Christ, if they'd made Brut flavoured toothpaste, I'd have used it.
I still didn't ever get to cop off with Sarah Reeves, despite dowsing myself with the stuff.
Come to think of it, I want my money back!