M: Here, fishy fishy fishy.
E: What are you doing?
M: Man, they’re slippery aren’t they. Tell me about your trout tickling experience, E.
E: Ah, that. Well, M.
M: So, you were hanging out at River Cottage HQ…
E: No, I most certainly was not. Let me continue. As I was saying, “Well, M”.
M: What? No gazing longingly in to Hugh Fearnley Whittingstall‘s eyes??? Gently stroking his soft curls.
E: That dude eats placentas I am not going near him.
M: Mmmm, the placenta diet for soft hair. Must try that one. CARRY ON.
E: I’m trying, believe me. I have not been to River Cottage or eaten placenta. I have – several months after the whole beauty world – had the famous fish pedicure. As so often, we are late to the party on this one.
M: What were your feet like, pre-fish?
E: Gross. Revolting. In fact, maybe my feet were River Cottage HQ for fish?
M: Stop stretching metaphors. Tell me about your calluses.
E: Surely you remember you told me they looked like .. what was it?
M: Oh god, yes.
E: Something gross.
M: Something out of a medieval trial.
E: Yes. I had the feet of a medieval peasant who had been tried for heresy.
M: Formless. Rotten. Black.
E: You got it. So. I show up at Fish Pedi Central with a paper bag over my head, obviously, in sackcloth and ashes, weeping apologies.
“So so sorry”
M: But the fish are hungry. They don’t care. They eat those little pellets of dried food. Your feet are delicacies to the fish.
E: I suppose. So, a woman takes you aside and washes your feet. What a shit job that is. She’s, like, the fish fluffer.
M: Oh god. There’s something biblical about all of this.
E: I tried to apologise “Sorry, I have been nervously removing my epidermis recently”. She just smiled. The shop looks like this:
Which is fucking hilarious. Look at the little tanks of hungry piranhas!
M: Nice THRONE!
E: I do like a throne
M: Wow. You didn’t tell me you were the queen of the pedifish spa.
E: I totally was. My rotting black formless feet won me that title
M: Where’s your crown?
E: The fish ate it
M: So, cut the crap. How was it?
E: Well, you put your feet in the tank and the bastards just go for it. Your feet are instantly covered in hungry fish, and those fuckers TICKLE.
M: Oh god. The trout’s revenge. It’s a fishocalypse.
E: Yes. Hugh Placenta should never go, he’d leave with no feet.
M: No, he’d bring some buttered bread and grab a couple for his lunch
E: So. For the first few minutes you’re all “HOLY FUCK FISH ARE EATING MY FEEET”, whilst outside the window, normal people who are not beauty bloggists are pissing themselves laughing at you, staring, and pointing, explaining to their children:
“The lady is having her rotting feet eaten by fish”.
M: “See kids? This is what happens if you don’t MOISTURIZE”
E: “No darling, it’s very silly”
So. After the first few minutes you get over the weirdness and you’re just “yeah, fish. Eating my feet. What of it?”
But then a big persistent fucker began trying to bite the raw bit of my left foot, so I had to try and kick him away without the fish handler seeing. I think he needed to go to the Punishment Tank.
I wonder what this one did? Did it take off someone’s toe?
M: What would happen if you put your face in the bath, I wonder. So. Tell me. Were your feet soft as a baby’s?
E: No. They were like feet. My own medieval peasant feet. Maybe a tiny bit softer. Maybe. I am not convinced. But I tell you what, it’s totally fucking hilarious. I absolutely recommend it.
M: I think you’re supposed to go regularly, or something.
E: Yes, you are. The fish can only eat so much rotting foot skin at once.
M: I am jealous. VERY JEALOUS. Where’s my fucking fish throne, eh?
E: I dunno, M.
M: I might walk down to Portobello beach and see if a 3 eyed cod will have a go.
E: Do, do. And take pictures.
E was a guest of Aqua Sheko.
Oooh, spring. 12% sartorial disaster, 24% hayfever paranoia, 64% the light, the blinding light.
Here are the steals on M’s beauty wish list for Spring 2010.
1. C Through the Dry Spell Deliciously Rich Body Butter £6.99
M: I have chronic moisturising deficiency syndrome. Zero discipline and a box full of half empty creams I never use. I usually walk around obliviously with crackly, itchy, flaky crocodile skin. And yet I must have this, because someone on the interweb said it made their skin plump and dewy and they couldn’t stop touching themselves after using it. I want to be that body butter perv. I NEED to be that body butter perv.
E: Plump and dewy. That makes you sound like a seal. I would check the smell before you buy, because it might actually be blubber. A seductive blend of carrots and blubber. However I have also heard good things about the Yes To Carrots. So I say Yes to the Yes to the Carrots. Or something.
2. A haircut £50 or whatever the demon spawn are charging these days
M: I have long, thick, unruly hair that tries to smother me in my sleep. I also hate going to the hairdresser’s. They are a vicious, manipulative, extortionist breed with a deep rooted hatred of curly hair. It’s probably been about a year since my last torture session haircut, which means I now look like an 8 year old hippy. I had high hopes of getting my hair cut this Easter in Singapore, where I once had the most awesome dry cut ever from a hairdresser who barely spoke a word of English, but the trip’s been cancelled. Bollocks.
E: Haircuts. Believe me, it’s a heap more scary when your hair lives on a stand in the bathroom and DOES NOT GROW BACK. I love my hairdresser (John Vial at Real Hair , considerably more than £50 but worth it for the gossip alone), but even he is fallible, and I have been surreptitiously trimming the last one with the kitchen scissors for weeks to get rid of the slightly mullety effect at the back. I actually love going to the hairdressers. You get magazines and hot beverages and scurrilous gossip. M, what kind of person can only cope with getting their haircut in SINGAPORE? You are a weirdo. Get a fucking haircut. The end.
3. Garnier Cafeine Anti-dark Circles 2-in-1 roll on £9.99
M: For my birthday last year, E. gave me a lovely Chanel Précision eyroller thingy that is wonderful for depuffing and refreshing eyes after a long session of obsessive compulsive stats checking on the computers. This version has concealer mixed in. Yay.
E: I am also in thrall to the roller. Mine is YSL Somethingorother. It is cool and lovely and lives, mysteriously, on the bathroom floor. We will speak of it at some point. All hail to the rollers.
4. Mavala nail polish in Macao £3.95
M: My sister the actress slash model wears this, so naturally I covet it like any self respecting younger sister would: with seething bitterness and bile. It’s a pretty shade of pinky red that will look lovely and polished on summer skin.
E: Ha! Summer skin. Are you ‘avin a larf, M? I don’t even know what that is. Does it look good with blue? Bluey grey? Morgue tones? No? Ok, you keep it.
5. Chinatown glossy pencil £19.50
M: I am pretty rubbish at applying makeup (50% clumsiness, 50% can’t be bothered), and find fat pencils much easier to cope with. This is a sheer, glossy, moisturising version of my favourite Nars velvet matte lip pencil. I want one of each. Apart from the purple one. That one can go away. It’s not wanted here.
E: The names are wrong. The purple one should definitely be called Crime. Lip Crime. Apart from that I approve. Go ahead.
6. Urban decay eyeshadow primer potion £11.50
M: There’s a small, hidden bathroom on the third floor of my workplace that gets a huge amount of natural daylight. It has this tiny mirror that never fails, in the glorious afternoon sun, to make me gasp at the sight of my oily, crêpy, smudged, pockmarked face. The interweb confirms this potion is good at “creating smooth lids that are super powered eyeshadow magnets”. The interweb is always right.
E: Oh man, that sounds exactly like the Toilet of Truth at my workplace. I have to shut my eyes when I go in there to avoid the crushing evidence of my mortality and chins, which has occasionally caused awkwardness. “Super-powered eyeshadow magnets”. Please get this M and we can test it. I will hold pots of eyeshadow 30cm from your eyes, and we will test just how magnetic they actually are. But only for a laugh, because I don’t believe in it. Not for a second. Does it have wheat protein and ions and nanoparticles? No. Well then. It can’t possibly work.
7. Nars Cruising lipstick £17
M: ‘Mr’ ‘Nars’, guapito, I have better things to do with my time than to lust after your pretty nude lipstick. No? Oh. Fine. Gimme one. And I’ll take one of those Alhambra eye duos while I’m at it. NOW LEAVE ME ALONE.
E: Get me one too before you go. However, Cruising? Really? Dude, call it ‘anonymous shag behind a tree’ and have done with it.
8. Remington i-LIGHT Hair Removal Unit, rrp £299.99
M: This terrifies and fascinates me in equal measure. Not exactly cheap, but it uses lasers and space pixies to remove your leg hair for up to 12 weeks. I’m pretty sure I would give up on this after about 15 minutes, but I still want it.
E: Another sci-fi choice from M. Space laser pixies. That’s got to sting, no? I am putting on my smug, hairless face here. For £300 you should have beautiful Brazilian ladyboys stroking your leg hair off, not a small eletrical appliance.
9. Guerlain Midnight secret £58.00
M: The midnight secret is that I may have accidentally surreptitiously stolen some of this from E’s bathroom when I visited her last month, but you have no proof against me. Apart from the glowy translucence of my cheeks. It’s amazing and a full review will be posted here soon.
E: It is amazing. It smells good. It makes you feel like Audrey Hepburn. I have to resist using it every night. I mean, I function with a permanent sleep debt due to taking my laptop to bed with me every night. That’s exactly what Guerlain had in mind, right? Not parties and shit. Right? RIGHT? Sob.
10. Barefaced beauty mineral foundation £12
M: Still on the lookout for a weightless foundation that won’t break me out, I continue to be slowly brainwashed by all the mineral foundation love out there. I don’t really want to try the Laura Mercier because she is out to get me. Barefaced Beauty’s powder has just four ingredients in it, no evil bismuth oxychloride , and a carefully thought out colour range. I ordered samples of this recently, but the bastard postman still hasn’t delivered them. Where’s my magic powder, postman? HUH?
E: The postman is wearing your powder. Look closely the next time you see him and check his face. Poreless, flawless? He’s got your Barefaced Beauty.
What cheap tat are you buying this Spring?
Dry baby seal photo by