Shower carnage (delicate readers look away now).

Mutterings continued.

I have been known, on occasion, to, shall we say, delicately enhance the [cough] natural [cough] colour of my hair (and if you believe that, have I got a bridge for you!). The post colour removal scene is always the same: I open my eyes to find the shower walls, curtain and soap dish beflecked with fluffy, blood coloured foam (think the shower scene in Psycho if, instead of the loony's weapon of choice, she'd been attacked by a soapy loofah).

This morning it put me in mind of the Sunsilk (I think it was - you can tell I ain't no brand queen) ad of a couple or so years ago. Woman, big hair, make up that looks as though it was thrown at her face by Rolf Harris before the "Can you tell what it is yet?" stage, storms into the bathroom and pulls open a drawer in which lie a pair of scissors and a box of hair colour. Cut to scene of 'red stuff' going down the drain. Could it be...blood? Has she...done violence to herself? Of course not, you bloody fools! Most women and all gay men immediately suss that she's been dumped and has taken the "Fuck you, you'll be sorry!" option and given herself a make-over.

Apparently there were people out there who a) have never been dumped; or b) never been out with anybody to be dumped by (or c. are so rich, they get their hair coloured in a salon and never actually see the coloured sludge going down the plug 'ole, but we don't know any of them) and got their proverbials in a bit of a twist. "Oh the horror! The horror!!" And the ad was pulled.