Rockford (1985)
by Atkinsons

When I was a kid I used to work in a hotel as a bellboy during the nightshift.
The desk clerk was a real pimp gentleman who always tried to educate me on the subject of The Science of Pimpin'. He introduce me to this cologne back around 1986. It kinda reminds me still of the Hungarian prostitutes, the Italian hunters, and the Russian tourists, and of course the smell of the old hotel I lost me virginity in to a relative of mine, who worked there as a pro whore.

The Baron de Charlus once told me: 'I recall the time when I was a house guest at the trailer home of Jim Rockford, the celebrated private investigator. He gave me a bottle of Atkinson's Rockford cologne.
"De Charlus, old buddy," inquired the amiable if somewhat world-weary detective, "whaddya think of this cologne which I guess the folks at Atkinsons must have named after me. Do ya figure it hits the spot?"
"My dear James," I replied, "please excuse my bluntness but honesty impels me to inform you that this cologne does not so much hit the spot as shit the pot. It is truly abysmal. When you consider the rest of Atkinson's line of male fragrances - the wonderful Gold Medal, the dry but acceptable English Lavender, the mysterious Ghibli, the hearty green Hunter, the delicate green Hurlingham, the somewhat imitative but pleasant Executive and Executive Original Dry, even the vaguely oriental Duke - then you cannot help but wonder what insanity possessed the Atkinson noses to produce this execrable scent and its still more offensive companion, Rockford Ice. Were the philosopher Plato in search of a cologne to embody the Ideal Form of Cheap and Nasty, he would need to look no further than these two fragrances. Sweet Corrinja, Dark and Ugly Goddess of the Divine Cringe, how your vile vapours infect these two perfumes!"'

Subtle and inviting fragrance with warm and masculine notes