Suckers & springs & sex toys

Me:  Have you seen those toys called Trashies? They’re quite cute.

New Man:  No. Are they kids’ toys or sex toys?

Me:  Kids toys. Tsht.  Would you seriously go near a sex toy called a Trashy?


Me: OK. Maybe you would.

…… later, after a bit of feverish Trashy googling ….

New Man: But what do they do? There’s no suckers or springs or anything.

Me:   My dear child of the 70s, of course there are no suckers or springs.
Suckers and springs would increase production costs and thereby reduce profit margins. Suckers and springs would also increase the likelihood of Trashy-takes-eye-out compensation claims.
This is the 21st century. Toys are designed and marketed to induce an obsessive need to acquire the whole collection for the purposes of showing off to friends.  You’re not supposed to actually play with them ….


In Berlin with a map, a camera and a new man.

Easyjetting to Berlin on Monday.

I’m taking my new camera. Am also taking my new man.

I will do my best not to break or lose either of them.

I have instructions for the camera, a map for Berlin but no instructions or map for my new man.

However I am still confident about finding my way around all three.


Bad Beetroot Day

Crazy colour hair dye type stuff in the shop….

‘I know. I’ll do a couple of funky streaks in my hair – yeh, that dark cherry red. I’ll look dead cool and trendy then.’

But the small tub of clotted blood type goo only has instructions written in Foreignish.  Everything except English. Even languages that don’t exist are represented on the tiny bit of paper.

Ah. OK.

So I stumble through the French instructions, through reading glasses because they appear to have been inscribed by a small insect using a cocktail stick.

But it’s simple enough. Brush it on, leave for 15mins and rinse. Off we go then.

After 15minutes I have a cherry red streak in the hair behind my right ear.

It’s not very vivid though.

The one on the window ledge is much brighter. As is the one on the mirror, the towel and the 3 hair clips. There is also an bright trail of cherriness across my bedroom floor and the sink, the soap and our toothbrushes are pink.

My hands looked as though I’ve murdered a beetroot and then wiped them on my chest.

So now I’m doing a second streak on my fringe, watching the Dead Kennedys on Youtube and remembering doing the same thing with food colouring when I was 15.

If this is a mid-life crisis, I highly recommend it.