I do a lot of thinking in the shower, especially when I’m in there for a bit longer than usual washing my hair. Sometimes I formulate great stories in the shower, or future masterpieces in oil; other times I try to work out what my dreams mean, and occasionally I just have a secret few tears to myself for whatever reason because I think nobody will hear me crying, and also because the water falling over me seems rather cathartic (not that I ever want to ‘wash that man right out of my hair’). This morning I was thinking a lot in the shower (as I washed my hair) but this time there were no tears or stories, or wonderful artworks in my mind; it was a mystery!

Almost exactly a week ago I bought a four-pack of pretty pink disposable razors for the princely sum of eighty-nine pence. They looked good and the “Triple blade system – specially positioned to give you a closer shave in one single stroke” sounded just the thing; the rubber grip handle promised “greater comfort and control even when wet”; and the glider strip was there to “reduce irritation” and the pivoting head was for “greater control”. In spite of the low price, those pink Trinity Ladies Razors had to be the business because they also carried a warning: Keep out of reach of children and babies. Misuse can cause serious injuries.

I had a little laugh to myself – one of those wry laughs – because I had been using one of the pack of four, Triple blade system, disposable razors every morning for a week now and there was absolutely no evidence of any serious injuries… to even a single hair! I ran the razor over my legs again and I checked, futilely, for the expected smoothness of a close shave. Now wouldn’t you think that even a cheap razor should be of merchantable quality? Okay, they were only eighty-nine pence but surely they should work properly at least once?

“I’m going to take those razors back and ask for my eighty-nine pence back,” I thought to myself, “so much for the pivotal head with the triple blades”. And with that I held the pink razor closer to my eyes for an inspection (albeit without my glasses on).

This time I laughed heartily out loud. In fact, I had a fit of the giggles so loud that Chris popped his head around the door.

“What’s so funny?” he asked.

“All week I’ve been shaving my legs with a new razor…”

“With plastic over the blades,” Chris interjected correctly.

I know, yet again I “should’ve gone to Spec Savers”!