M: Whatevs. Well, my skin was much better after that, but I had all these weird little milia and tiny angry red spots that just wouldn’t go away.
So, I’ve been wondering, as one does, what could be the cause of these aggravations. Stress?
M: Chocolate? A diet of potatoes and cheese? The work of the devil?
E: Weeping? So have you got any answers to this puzzle?
M: Well, I’ve been suspecting Sodium Lauryl Sulfate.
And what is this substance?
M: Sulfate – see? That’s what they have in hell, isn’t it?
E: Yup. It’s the devil’s own additive.
M: I dunno, some people react badly to it. It’s that stuff that makes shit foam, innit. Well, not actually shit. Just, products. OH GOD.
E: It’s OK. I GET IT.
E: Ick. Shit foam.
M: So, I picked up this Good Things Stay Clear purifying cleanser at Boots the other day. It’s had a lot of press. Alice Hart-Davis, who is apparently a beauty writer, created the line. And you know what? That shit is GOOOD.
E: Ooooh! Tell me more.
M: It’s a gel that you rub on your wet face for a minute or so. It turns sort of thick and creamy so you can really massage it in. And then you take it off with a flannel. It’s free from all the bad stuff, hence the name.
E: Ok. So far so .. cleansery. What’s so good about it?
M: It’s the exorcist, in a face wash.
M: I’ve only been using it for 3 days, and the tiny angry red spots that have been there for MONTHS are gone.
E: Wow. that’s some awesome shit.
M: Black magic, if you ask me.
E: I am so buying it. I bet it cures scurvy (I have scurvy).
M: Maybe. If you drink it. It has mangoes and blueberries in it.
E: It’s like putting a toad in your pocket or saying the rosary.
E: As surgeons, we hold life in our hands every day. Our every decision could mean the difference between life and death. As surgeons, our eye shadow can mean the difference between life and death.
M: Who are you talking to?
E: The viewers, M. Or should that be Yang.
M: [Rolls eyes].
E: I am doing a Voiceover. A tediously repetitive and overwrought voiceover. To be repeated at the end of the post.
M: Right, well while you are busy having fun with your little friends the McViewers, I have more important things to do. Like fixing this SERVER, Grey.
E: Oh god, we hadn’t thought this through. I don’t want to be Grey.
M: YOU ARE TOTALLY GREY.
E: Oh god. Ok. Forget about the server. The server is not important. Leave the server Cristina. We need to have intense girlish chat. You must be abrasive and full of good sense. I must be annoyingly wet.
M: Oh, the server is important. How can you say the server is not important? Seriously? Seriously? The server is important. I was left at the altar because of the server.
E: No. Seriously? This isn’t even ABOUT the server. Stop talking about the server. We need to talk about something more important. There are more important things than the server, Cristina.
M: Fine. Let’s talk about you, Meredith. You and your subtly defined eyes.
E: Thank you Cristina. Your eyes are also subtly defined. As surgeons, our eyes must be defined.
M: Yes, even though you can barely see them because of how much I am rolling them around in their sockets.
E: Should we sit on a gurney to talk about this?
M: Sure, yeah, whatever. I am going to stare moodily in the distance, exuding scorn and disdain from every inch of my porcelain skin.
E: Why do you think we surgeons love taupe so much?
M: Because it is work appropriate. And also, universally flattering. We’re all about the universal love, here at whatever the fuck this hospital is called.
E: Facegoop Grace Hospital. What taupe are you using Cristina? Will you tell me what it is if I get you an amazing surgery? With pulsating hearts for you to hold in your bare hands?
M: I have a nice one from No.7. And I also mix two of the colours from my armani palette. That is because, unlike you pathetic interns, as a surgeon, I like to experiment with cutting edge techniques.
Ei: You practise obsessively in the scrub room, don’t you? For hour after single-minded hour, blending.
M: Yes. When I am not busy snogging inappropriate men. And by inappropriate, I mean crazy.
E: Can I tell you about MY taupe?
M: What’s your taupe, Meredith? I bet it is earnest. So earnest.
E: I use Armani Mono Shadow in “Maestro”.
M: Predictable. Reliable.
E: You know what Cristina? It is GOOD. The taupe is GOOD. It makes me feel good about taupe.
M: Good. It’s good taupe.
E: I never thought I would say this, but taupe? It’s GOOD. Good taupe.
M: It certainly is. It is good.
E: The goodest of good taupes. Taupe. Good. Is it voiceover time?
M: [Rolls eyes].
E: As surgeons.. nah, forget it. I’m bored.
M: Let’s go throw fruit at that annoying blonde girl. Is she dead yet?
E: Ok M. I’m quite excited. Are you going to take me on a voyage of discovery to the land of … Mascara? Alittle known Balkan state.
M: Get your facts right. It’s an Island in the Maldives.
E: Oh yes, sorry. Owned by the Pope who is himself partial to the fruits of the mascara tree.
M: To be completely honest, I must admit I am Not That Bothered With Mascara (NTBM). I’ll use whatever is at hand.
E: NTBM. Like NTM but more polite.
M: Nique Ton Mascara. That’s gross, E.
E: Ouais, grave. Ok, come on, tell me more about the Island of Mascara.
M: Also, I can’t use eyelash curlers. They give me the fucking creeps. You might as well try to lawnmow my face.
E: They look like something from Clockwork Orange.
M: The result would be the same: hyperventilation. Blacking out. Manic screaming.
E: A normal Monday chez Facegoop.
M: So, this is my technique for mascar. Start with a naked eye.
M: Find a mascara tube that isn’t 3 years old.
E: Good start. Conjunctivitis is never a good look.
M: Dab it on, apprehensively. Usually get some right in my eye. Cry a bit. Curse. Then push the lashes up, while they’re still wet, so they curl up a little. The end.
E: So. None of this crazy shit oscillating brush business for you? Vibrations?
Infrared? Small pixies creeping out of the tube to stroke your lashes?
M: No. I mean, if someone wants to give me one, I’ll use it. I’ll even be polite to the pixies. AS LONG AS THEY DON’T STROKE MY EYEBALLS.
E: Ew. You’d be fully entitled to kick the little fuckers in their tiny pixie nuts if they did that.
M: But really, I demand two things out of a mascara:
1. Do not give me panda eyes. I mean, really. If I wanted panda eyes, I’d be eating bamboo.
2. Get the fuck off my lashes when I tell you to, mascara. None of this staying around for a “night cap” business.
E: We do not want to see your etchings. Or hear about how you and your wife ‘live separate lives’.
M: And we definitely don’t want to see you “tasteful nudes”. With that in mind. Here are the 4 mascaras I found in my pile of crap cosmetic drawer.
Definie-a-lash in Black Waterproof
No clumps, separated, seriously long lashes
Recommended by my sister, the actress slash moddle. Perfectly long, fluttery, defined lashes on her. Unfortunately I made the mistake of buying the waterproof version. Gives quite stiff, crispy lashes, and is impossible to remove – no amount of eye make up remover, oil cleanser, soaking, wiping, scraping or praying to the gods will prevent next day panda eyes.
It’s good stuff. But stay away from the waterproof.
E says: You look pretty good, but it’s not science fiction uber lashes, is it? Whatevs.
Lash building brush helps build even the tiniest lashes for a cleaner, more separated lash finish.
I used this when I was a teenager. That and those giant glue sticks of Palmer’s Cocoa butter balm we used to rub on our lips obsessively. Good times.
It’s actually very good, the brush is quite small and does tackle even the tiniest lashes. I seem to remember this melting onto my face pretty fast though, which is probably why I haven’t used it in ages.
E says: Yeah, this looks very good. The name is like a Whitney Houston song though. The Greatest Lash of All.
Super volumising mascara for false lash effect dramatically thicker and fuller lashes.
As recommended by the Topshop makeup artiste. The brush is chunky and always loaded with lots of gloopy product. I usually get some around my lids. It’s very clumpy too so I have to use my fingers to get the worst of it off.
In spite of its rebellious teenager behaviour, I like it for its high impact, and have been using it daily. It lasts until the evening with no smudging or melting. It gets to the lash roots like no mascara I’ve ever tried, but it’s not so good on the small outer corners.
E says: I don’t understand why you like something that gloops on you, but whatever, dude. This looks like Old Skool mascara to me, like quite heavy in a sultry temptress kind of way. Looks kind of lengthening. Does that even make sense? Urgh, my head hurts.
Dress the eye with powerful, plush, voluminous lashes.
I don’t actually own this, but the gentle lovely FACE DESIGNER at Armani made me try it. I have no idea how she put it on, because my eyes were closed during the application. She could have told me, but she probably would have had to kill me.
Go away. My lash extensions and I have some fluttering to do.
E says: See, when I see you wearing this, I wonder why you bother with the others. This is KING MASCARA. King Mascara of Lizardland. BOW DOWN AND WORSHIP HIM.
E: So, M. What’s going down in the world of Scotchland beauty?
M: I have been shopping. Cheap shopping, because I am poor.
E: HSBC are cruel masters. Even worse than the space lizards. What did you get?
M: I bought stuff from 17.
E: That’s No. 7 for children, right?
M: Yes. I believe it to be a range of cosmetics for impoverished teenagers.
E: And what is on offer to today’s teens, apart from “Meow”, Justin Bieber and binge drinking?
M: Well, I was sucked in by their current offer of a cute metal tin if you buy two products, so I bought a nail polish the colour of a mermaid’s tail. And a cheek blush/highlighter duo.
E: Mermaid’s tail sounds lovely. Silvery grey?
M: No, it’s sort of dark sparkly seaweed coloured. I am a bit wary of it, but we will see. We will SEA.
E: Oh, very good. Funny.
M: Tsssssss. Funny – if you’re LAME.
E: When you do that “tssssss” thing, is that a high hat cymbal type thing? Like, ‘thank you ladies and gentlemen, I’ll be here all week’
M: Badoom PAH. No, it’s more of a tsk. ANYWAY. The blush thing is good.
E: Oh? Wassitlike?
M: I read on some other blog that it was a “dupe” (that’s a beauty blogger technical term, check me out) for Nars Orgasm. Wait, let me show you it. Check out the colour swatches, they are really very close and it is a very pretty, shimmery peachy pink.
E: Interesting. That is actually an impressive match. How does it look on? Do you have a healthy glow? Do you look edible?
M: I haven’t put in on my face yet. Just on my arm. I am too tired for faces.
E: Ha. Does your arm have a healthy glow? Let us examine it….
Yes. I think it does. Erm. I have a question M. The blue eyeshadow? Did you, er, CHOOSE that?
M: No. The sparkly aqua blue eye shadow came in the freebie box.
With a matching eyeliner and some red nail polish. But I like it! It looks like fish skin. This pleases me greatly.
E : Because I thought you might have got it to prepare for our Mexican Wrestling Makeover. Cassandro wears a remarkably similar shade. (FUTURE POST WARNING).
M: Ha! Actually, it would be perfect for that, wouldn’t it.
E: There is an aquatic theme to your purchases.
M: “Nautical”, they call it. “Nautical but nice” (tsk)
E: TSK. A big fat TSK.
M: Of course, I was handed a 5poundsoffno7andrubymillievoucher.
E: Of course.
M: So I bought an eyeliner brush for our upcoming gel eyeliner review (FUTURE POST WARNING). Yes. I will not be defeated, gel. You can’t see me now, but I am shaking my fist at the gel.
E: That should scare it. And what is this “sleek” thing I see lurking among your purchases?
M: Well. I’ve always liked the look of those bobbi brown shimmer brick things but can’t be bothered spending gazillions of pounds on one, because I don’t think I would use it much. So I got this cheap alternative.
E: Have you tried it out?
M: I have tried it on my arm, and taken a picture. And look! I can look at my boobs in the mirror. Which is nice.
E: Oh yeah. Nice. Checking out your own breasts. Are you having a nice weekend M?
M: Sigh. This is as good as it gets.
E: Good. And how much did this princely haul cost you?
M: Not sure. Less than a tenner.
E: It’d cost you twice that to sniff Serge Lutens wrist.
M: Mmmm, smoky spicy lamb chops. I introduced you to my friend Dr Mystery, he who has the necklace used for measuring testicles.
E: Yes! Doctor Mystery who has a pet eagle and a necklace of testicles!
M: He does. These two statements are fact. Anyway, today I’d like to introduce you to another doctor.
E: Ooooh. I like doctors.
M: His name? DR SPOT.
E: Oh. Dr Spot. Is he a character in a board book for under 3s?
M: See Spot perform a tracheostomy. Actually, he’s a character in a cardboard box for the over 16s, I think. The Spot Afflicted.
E: Ah! Dr Spot is a product! I thought he was a potential boyfriend for me.
M: No. Dr Spot is a Soap & Glory product. It comes in a tiny tube the size of a fat packet of Tic Tacs. Or a Zippo. Yes, that’s it. A pharmaceutical Zippo for your spots. Look:
E: He’s cute. Is he single?
M: I don’t know, I think Dr Spot might be a girl.
E: Either way he or she is really very small. Why do spot creams come in tiny tubes? Is it to emphasise their powerful magic mojo?
M: Yes. Dr Spot is big on hype. Being a Soap & Glory product, naturally the box is covered in hyperbole. “Better than excellent… my spots disappeared instantly!”
E: Ha. That sounds like LIES.
M: It is lies, obviously. BUT: He has a tiny dainty nozzle, for only giving out a tiny amount of product. Which is good for, err, spot treating spots.
E: “Tiny dainty nozzle”. I see.
M: Also, you know how I’m basically a zombie servant to Lisa Eldridge now?
E: Yes. You are one of her army of the undead. She has eaten your BRAIN.
M: Of the undead, and one day, perhaps, clear-skinned.
E: Undeath is very good for the complexion.
M: You would know. ANYWAY. Lisa Eldridge recommends lactic acid as her favourite ingredient for clearing skin and making you all glowy and doe eyed and soft as a baby dik dik.
E: Lactic acid? really? Isn’t that the stuff you give out when you do an-thingy exercise? Anaerobic. that’s it.
M: Dude, you’re talking Exercise, I no understand. Lactic acid. It is gentle but potent and is the active ingredient in this little Zippo of goodness. I am obsessed with lactic acid at the moment, and this is satisfying my milky needs.
E: So? Does it WORK???
M: It’s very good! It’s not a miracle, but it’s kept my angry spots under control, and is quite good on those under the skin ones, with no dried cack around the offending areas. I think we should trademark “cack”, don’t you?
E: Yes. Yes we should. Cack ™.
M: Now, it’s no good immediately before makeup, especially mineral powder, unless you want to look like a witch with a peeling sunburn. Boak.
E: I don’t, thanks. Is it more a nighttime thing?
M: Well, it says you can use it whenever and wherever. But, again, LIES. Because, erm, wherever? No.
E: In a board meeting? NO. Swimming? NO. Measuring testicles in a busy Casualty department? NO.
M: So, listen up, Dr Spot. Stop trying so hard. We know you’re all shiny and dinky and your packaging is cute and practical.
E: But noone likes a boastful spot cream.
M: Nope. Don’t say we didn’t warn you when you end up doing rectal exams on the geriatric ward.
E: I might try this though M. You have tempted me. It’s cheap, right?
M: Yeah, £9, although utterly sold out everywhere, APART FROM at Harvey Nichols where I got mine. Hang on. I have just checked, it’s £6.50 at Boots. Shame on you, Harvey Nics!
E: Who is Jergens? Should I be aware of his work? He sounds like a Danish exchange student. I bet he’s probably a mate of the freakishly youthful looking Ole Henriksen. Or do I mean Henrik Olesen? Who knows. They are probably raising money to go interrailing by selling beauty products.
M: Finnish, perhaps. In any case, he probably eats a lot of herring.
E: I should imagine so. His essential fatty acids would be through the roof. And they’re cheap when you’re saving to go to Amsterdam. Tell me more.
M: Well, you know how moisturising and I do not really see eye to eye?
E: I am aware of this. Moisturising isn’t a close friend of mine either.
More one of those people who you have to do a fake smile at across a busy bar, then ignore and pray they don’t come over.
M: Moisturising, in a nutshell, is a bastard.
E: Yeah. Boring too. A boring bastard.
M: So, you will imagine my surprise when I bought my third bottle of this.
E: Bloody hell. What is it, exactly?
M: “Jergens Naturals Skin firming body moisturiser with pomegranate extract”. I realized the other day that I have been using it every day. And do you want to know why?
E: Of course I do. Tell me!
M: It claims to “visibly firm cellulite prone skin”.
E: Yeah, and allow you to fly to work on a gilded unicorn. How many times have you heard that one?
M: Well, let me tell you, my friend, it is TRUE.
E: True? Truly truly true?
M: TRUE. TRULY TRUE. I mean, I’m no leaping gazelle. I am very very far from being a leaping gazelle. All smooth, furry lithe limbs, delicate face and golden eyes.
E: Mmmmmmm so pretty.
M: To give us some background here, I had foie gras and bakewell tart tonight. For dinner. Again.
E: Good dinner. I applaud your choices. Not unsalted plaice fillet en papillote with some steamed spinach?
M: No. My thighs. They are dimpled. And this, THIS! This makes them less dimpled.
E: I am quite amazed. Totally amazed actually. I mean, you know how much I want to believe.
M: Actually, they are not really less dimpled. The fat is still there. But it strengthens the skin and firms it and, what, thickens it? So that the fat is less visible.
E: Smoothes it perhaps.
M: Yes. VISIBLY. The bottle says in 2 uses but that is a lie. I noticed the difference half way through the second bottle. Coincidentally, during water week.
E: Ssssssh we will not speak of that.
M: Do you want to know how much this costs?
E: Of course I do. £100 for 30ml? Rodial stylee?
M: No. It is cruelty free. And Paraben free. And Made in the UK for low carbon miles whatever the fuck that means. And it’s… £4.99.
E: Ha! Less than FIVE of your British pounds! A cheap, non planet flaying cellulite remedy.
M: This, my fellow cellulite miracle searcher, is a HG. I mean, it’s obviously made of embryos or something (“96% natural ingredients”). Stolen embryos bought on the Chinese black market.
E: Too dear. Probably pigeon embryos.
M: I have used many cellulite creams. MANY.
E: Ha. I think we can agree we both have.
M: Tell me about some of the crap you have used.
E: Well. I have used Vichy Lipometric, Caudalie Firming complex, Shiseido Body Creator, Sisley Celluli-Pro, the collected works of St Jeanne de Piaubert.
M: Did she burn your cellulite at the stake?
E: No, she made me wear ill-fitting cycling shorts. And her pump dispensers kept breaking. The only one that did anything was the Vichy. And it just gave your skin a metallic sheen. I liked the metallic sheen. I felt a little bit robotic.
M: I had a rather expensive Karin Herzog duo that was made of oxygen and old grannies. That’s what it smelled like, at least. Various sticky ones. I hate those sticky ones. Those stupid tubes with the tiny tiny plastic massage heads attached to them. And the serums, that you have to keep in the fridge.
E: I had those big patches you stuck on your bum cheeks, like nicotine replacement therapy.
M: And, of course, there was the infamous Philips Celesse of DOOM.
E: Ah, yes. The Philips Celesse is probably a post in itself. And do you remember when I wrote to a cellulite pants doctor to try and get him to send us some? He never replied, bastard.
M: We would have tested them faithfully.
E: You realise we could be richer than oligarchs if we had never embarked upon cellulite treatment madness.
M: Yes. Especially considering that most of my cellulite treatment madness took place in my late teens and early twenties, when I had perfectly acceptable thighs.
E: It’s probably best not to think of it. We’ll cry. Where do you get Jergens from? Your local youth hostel? Hanging out with Ole Henriksen and Dr Brandt? Did you take off his backpack and coax him out with the promise of a can of cider and a tiny joint?
M: Yes. You will find him filling up on the free Danish pastries in the tawdry canteen. Boots, dude. Boots. Always freaking Boots.
E: Wow. Boots. 4.99 and. IT. WORKS. I need a lie down.
M: One last thing.
M: I think I’ve found the magic ingredient on the back label.
M: It says it has: “Helianthus Annuus seed oil”.
E: Ahahahahhahahaahaa. Anus seed oil????? You can see why it’s cheap.
M: Yup. Whatever, my thighs are smooth.
E: I’d keep that hidden in your backpack under your crumpled miracle towel, Jergens.
E: YES TELL ME TELL ME TELL ME NOW. How are things in the dysfunctional No. 7 family?
M: Tense. I booked an appointment to be made over by the resident no 7 makeup artist.
E: Resident in Boots? Meal deals for breakfast lunch and dinner. More £5 vouchers than you can shake a stick at.
M: Apparently, all the No 7 products are the creative children of Lisa Eldridge.
E: Wow. I did not know that. I am now Impressed. No 7 has Lisa Eldrige as its adoptive mother.
M: Yes, she is Creative Director, with capital letters, innit.
She is also Hawt. And she looks like a freak when she has no makeup on, like a normal person, who wouldn’t think twice about eating your brain if these were post-apocalyptic times.
E: She’s the Angelina of orphan make up.
M: Yup. Collecting multi-coloured children for her sparkly collection with cheap packaging.
E: I admire that.
M: Her videos are ace. Lots of closeups, and she’s not annoying. Also, they’re blissfully short. Look:
M: And she does that stupid face everyone does when they put their makeup on, which comforts me.
ANYWAY. So the poor girl who is kept in the basement of the Boots on Princes St made me up. She seemed a bit on edge, and speedy, like the TGV of makeup.
E: That’s not reassuring. I wouldn’t want a high speed train that close to my face.
M: But she was very nice. She said she wasn’t allowed to put eyeliner on the inner corner of my eye, in case she pokes my eye out with it.
E: Boots, the pharmacists, see? Giving priority to Health and Safety.
M: This was also comforting, because I have a PHOBIA of anyone going near my eye with anything. Including myself.
M: Obviously. So, I was sitting in the high makeup chair with my legs dangling, as she applied A LOT of blue eyeshadow on me. Because I had asked for it. Why remains a mystery.
E: No. Oh, no. You can’t just say that. You need to rummage around in your psyche and tell us Why. WHY THE BLUE, M, OH GOD WHY WHY?
M: Because, clearly, I want to be a 70s porn star:
E: Ah, ok. Well it worked. Bravo.
M: There were all these old women, including one in a white fur hat and what looked like half a jar of dusting powder plastered on her face, just standing and staring at me. One leant over the counter, uncomfortably close, and said to the makeup artist – “ARE YOU DOING ANY MORE FACES TODAY?”
E: She obviously also wanted to look like a 1970s porn star.
M: Poor thing. She was very funny, the makeup slave. She put a LOT of makeup on me. A LOT. She kept on dusting me. Dust dust dust. And as she dusted, we bonded over a shared cultural heritage, African conflicts and how difficult it is to source appropriate ingredients for South East Asian cooking. She’s onto her third Scottish husband, and we’re hoping this one will be the right one.
E: You should try and break her out of the basement. It’s hard to see daylight in Edinburgh at the best of times. The basement of Boots must be like Finland in December.
M: I would, but I am pathologically shy. Also the Basement of Boots must be AWESOME.
E: I guess she has Lisa Eldridge.
M: Do you think they are given a little vial of Lisa Eldridge essence when they graduate from No 7 School, to sniff when they are feeling down?
E: I wonder if Lisa wears a phial of Mr Armani’s blood around her neck? Does he even have blood, being a space lizard? So many questions. Did you learn anything from this epic makeover?
M:. Well, I learned a few things:
1. Blue eyeshadow is hilarious. Stepping out into the street with full hooker makeup is also hilarious. No one noticed. That’s Scotchland for you.
2. No 7 is actually really quite good. The colours are funky but wearable, the formulations are nice, I like the brushes and it’s relatively cheap. Especially with the ubiquitous 5poundsoffrubymilllieandno7 voucher.
3. They have a nice sheer lipstick I think you would like. It’s not as smooth or glidy as Armani, but for £9.50 I think it’s a bargain. Creamy but translucent.
E: Ooh I must try that. And was there a hard sell?
M: No, not at all. She just wrote everything down on a special card thing and then left me to it. She even told me the Urban Decay shadows were better.
E: And did you buy?
M: I quite liked the lip colour on the 1970s porn star picture. But in the end I bought the neutral one, which is called something stupid like “Attract”.
E: Yeah, I need me a bit of “attract”. But I am all spent up after Space NK.
M: So, in conclusion, go to No 7 and have a makeover, because if you are lucky you will get a hilarious makeup artist, wacky grannies scrutinizing your pores, and the chance to spend your trillions of vouchers on something that’s thought up by that clever brain-eating minx, Lisa Eldridge. I was fully prepared to be disappointed, but I enjoyed it. And the next evening I wore blue eyeshadow to go outside, into the world, with my FRIENDS. Damn those plucky Pharmacists at Boots.
E: Sheer lipstick…. [makes plotting noises, rubs hands together in the manner of a cartoon miser]
M: Of course, when Mr Armani hears of this there will be hell to pay.
E: You think?
M: He will send his space lizards down. On goats.Genetically engineered goats.
E: Goodness. Did it come to you in a dream? Have you been drinking fermented lychee cocktails again? We talked about that. Hmmm. I really don’t want to anger Mr Armani, but I do like goats very very much.
M: And these are the softest, fluffiest, angriest goats you have ever encountered.
E: I think you’ve sold it to me. Alien invasion by soft fluffy goats and new and excellent cheap sheer lip colour? Our cup runneth over.
E: Yes. I expect people are probably already bored. We should try and incentivise them. What are we giving away?
M: I have a spare lip product to give.
E: Tell me about it.
M: It’s No 7 Protect and Perfect lip care. The neglected child of the no 7 family.
E: I don’t think I’d want to be a member of the No.7 family. That fucking serum is like the pushy, show off genius child of the family and noone gives a shit about anyone else. Everyone has to tiptoe around the diva serum. Boots are really bad parents in that respect. Where did you get this lipcare thing? You didn’t steal it did you?
M: No, no! Why on earth would you suggest that?
E: Erm, no reason. No. None at all. Did you adopt it? From the No. 7 orphanage for unwanted cosmetic children?
M: Yes, from the No. 7 orphanage-stroke-factory in Romania.
E: Did you have to fight Angelina for it? Back off, bitch. Step away from the lip care.
M: What I want to know is what happened to no 5 and no 6. Actually, they are so desperate to get rid of their unwanted child cream they give you these vouchers for £5.
E: Oh yes, I know that of which you speak. They hand them over at the till don’t they, while reciting the Boots Mantra:
M: Yes, everyfuckingtime. Buy a bottle of water? HAVE FIVE POUNDS OFF. Pack of tic tacs? FIVEPOUNDSOFF. You can spend it on one of the cheaper no 7 children. Or on something called “Ruby and Millie”, which is just sticky crap.
E: Ruby and Millie. It’s sounds like a Clapham nursery school, doesn’t it?
M: Stop saying strange British things, I no understand. The £5 voucher just serves to make you realize how cheap this stuff really is.
E: Very VERY cheap.
M: Probably costs 10p to make.
E: They’d give it away at the door if they thought it would bring you back for more 3 for 2 vitamins.
M: Or a meal deal.
E: Have you actually tried this stuff? Cos we can’t give stuff away if we haven’t actually tried it. We have standards.
M: Ahahhahahahhahaha. No we don’t. But I have tried it.
E: And? my lips need care. All of me needs care, but we could start with the lips.
M: Everyone’s lips need care. It comes in a thin juicy tube sort of tube:
E: Like its bullying older sibling, the serum?
M: Well, duh. White. Pearlescent. PLAIN.
E: Ok gotcha. CHEAP.
M: When I first opened it, I though uuuugh, thanks a lot, Boots.
E: Why? Is it thin and dribbly?
M: I was expecting a lip balm, but instead yes, thin and dribbly. Like a lotion or a cream.
E: Like the “magic” serum?
M: No, different texture. More firm somehow. And yet still gloopy.
E: I don’t really like the sound of thin and dribbly. They aren’t words I want near my lips.
M: Well, I persevered, and after 4 days it did really smooth out my super-cracked-cycling-in-the-winter-with-no-balaclava-lip-skin. I didn’t want to like it, but now I spend 10 minutes every night trying to find the fucking thing, so I don’t wake up with lizard lips.
E: Brrrrrr. Lizard lips. I haz em. I have a tube of lipbalm actually IN my bed – one of the ones made by orcs – but it’s shit. I find most lip balms to be shit.
M: On the downside, I don’t really like it in the morning. And it says it’s a good base for lipstick, but I find that to be a LIE. A No. 7 lie. Perpetrated by the No. 7 matrons.
E: No. 7 lies are couched in a thin dermal layer of science.
M: Thin. So thin.
E: Percentages. Graphs. Confidence trickery. BELIEVE US WE ARE BOOTS WE WOULD NOT LIE TO YOU.
M: WE ARE PHARMACISTS. PHARMACISTS ARE BASICALLY LIKE VICARS.
E: Pharmacist is one of those professions we implicitly trust. Priest. Doctor. Undertaker. Pharmacist. Whereas in fact, they are more like dodgy boiler repair men, at least when they start dabbling in skin care.
M: However, and this is a significant plus, the No. 7 Lip Care has LIPO PEPTIDES in it. Which makes me laugh.
E: Lip peptides
M: What the fuck is a peptide, anyway?
E: I think you get them in jam. Don’t you make jam with peptides?
M: Probably. So, basically, No 7 lip care: it’s like tasteless liquid jam for your lips. Made by vicars and orphanage matrons. And we are giving one away for free! A brand new one! that hasn’t even come near our thin dribbly lips!
E: TOTALLY FREE and in TAMPER PROOF PACKAGING. Perhaps.
M: 100% PURE PEPTIDE ACTION
E: To you, all four of you Facegoop readers! No, actually that’s a lie. Only to one of you. I am as bad as a pharmacist with my lying, cheating, worthless promises.
M: So what do they have to do to get this?
E: Tell us a lipbalm story.
M: Leave a comment saying what your favourite or most disastrous lip balm purchase is. We will pick one based on PURE BIAS.
E: Yes, none of your randomised selection here. We choose the one we like best.
M: Warning: we play favourites and we DO love some of you more than others.
E: Is that legal? Who knows. Who cares.
M: We can do whatever we want.
E: It’s our lip jam. RAWR.
E: So. Leave us a comment saying something about lip balm. Before the 21st of March. And you might win one. Fancy.
Boots no 7 Protect & Perfect lip care, available from, errr, Boots.
£8.75 (or £3.75 if you have a magic voucher. Look! maths!)