You Beauty! Annabel Rivkin's cabinet of wonders

Don't you find that those dimly amorphous early memories are usually anchored by smell? Suddenly the thick treacle of time lifts and through a glass, darkly, swims an atmosphere, a feeling, a moment unthought of for decades.

Elnett does this as effectively as any time machine. The sight of that gold tube is enough to kick off the fizz of nostalgia but really it's the smell. It was my first whiff of glamour. There I'd be, small and scrubbed and combed and cocooned, and in she'd sweep, silhouetted for a moment in the doorway, skirts a-rustle, heels
a-clicking, hair upswept and held in place with a final blast of Elnett. I'd feel the cold metal of a just-clipped earring against my cheek (you do not allow hairspray to come into contact with proper jewellery, particularly pearls, as it can dull and discolour them) as I received my kiss goodnight and my tuck-in. Then off she'd go. Into life as I did not yet know it.

It is a smell dear to my heart. It is safe and luxurious. Men tend to react powerfully to it but do be careful. If they are Oedipal then fine. If they loathe their mother then maybe swerve this spray. The thing is, it works. It came out in 1960, the first brush-out hairspray; an adieu to rock-hard lacquer, a bonjour to hair that could be big but still swooshy. It's still as good as anything out there for lightly fixing your barnet. I keep a mini can of it in my bag. My bathroom cabinet is stacked with spares, as was my mother's. And just as I trust her, I trust Elnett.

L'Oréal Paris Elnett Satin Hairspray, £3.79, at boots.com