I'm blind!

No, you mucky pups, not because of that (and it doesn't actually make you go blind, or there would be FAR more guide dogs around). I've been blinded by science. Or so the marketeers would like to believe. (Marketeers; like musketeers, but their weapon of choice is not the mighty sword, but magnificent swathes of bullshite).

I give you - bifidus actiregularis. Seriously?! 'Ooooh!' we all exclaim, 'that yogurt will have my bifidus digestivum all regularis in no time…' Or not. Because it is made up.

The beauty industry is even better. Our dedication to harnessing the secret weapon of the bold and the beautiful ('luminosity') knows no bounds, and the spin goes right down to the list of ingredients. The main ingredient in most shampoos, moisturisers, lotions and potions is 'aqua'. Also known as 'water'. They even highlight their bastardisation of chemistry in ads, with their oh-so-patronising 'here comes the science bit... Concentrate!' Makes me want to concentrate the attentions of my foot on their posteriors.

Doesn't stop me buying said lotions and potions of course, as my hundreds of Boots advantage card points will attest. I am a slave to product (I need all the help I can get to look vaguely presentable). But I do get tired of the tomfoolery.

I like a bit of honesty or, better still, a smidgen of humour. The marketing minds at Soap & Glory do a good job of sticking a tongue in the rouged cheek of the beauty industry and gently sticking two fingers up at ridiculous litigation gone mad, from their product titles ('Glow Job' …titter) to their disclaimers ('Soap & Glory formula's are not tested on animals, only very picky people.’) On 'The Breakfast Scrub' they proclaim; ‘We are legally obliged to tell you that THIS IS NOT FOOD.’

Let's face it; the beauty bods don't really need to try very hard to peddle their wares. There is a lot of competition, but they have a vast army of devotees, ready and willing, credit cards aloft, to buy and try the next 'amazing' 'miracle' solution to all their problems. For some, sadly, looking good is all that matters and there are no limits. Prime example: Botox. People are injecting poison into their faces. Actual, honest-to-god, poison. And to what end? A fixed expression, ever ready if a surprise party should be thrown at them, but sadly unable to show any other emotion; positive or negative. You might was well just hang a 'vacant' sign around your neck.

Because you're worth it.

Just look at those luscious locks...

Taxi!

Taxis are often an iconic part of the cityscape - London’s black cabs, New York’s yellow taxis, and Bangkok’s death-defying tuk-tuks - and, in addition to their power to transport you from A to B when you’re wearing heels / have forgotten your umbrella, I love taxis ability to surprise. Sometimes for the better – New York taxis have very bouncy back seats, and they’re really cheap (far cheaper that Edinburgh taxis – but that’s a rant about the city of Edinburgh council I won’t go into now) and sometimes for the worse – I’m always a little disappointed when I hail a ‘traditional Black cab’ only to be faced with a boxy glorified van. Yes – more of those first world problems, but I’m not a fan of the new style black cabs. Give me a ‘dangerous’ door that opens in reverse over a slow-motion automatic door any day (I could walk quicker than those bloody doors open). 

It’s the drivers that really make the journey though. Believe me I’ve met plenty of the traditional grumpy ignoramus types who are only out to wheedle as much money as possible out of you. The better half and I took a cab from the airport to our hotel in Vegas without a single word from the driver – not even a grunt. And if I had a pound for every time a classic cranky Edinburgh taxi driver (don’t mention the trams!) has tried to take me the longest route possible in a city I’ve lived in for 15 years, only to be totally affronted by the ‘accusation’… and god forbid you attempt to open the aforementioned ridiculous automatic doors yourself. Cue huffing, puffing and loosely disguised expletives. But, to be fair, they do have to deal with the general public all day (and – even worse - all night), and if that were me there would probably be blood.

I love an anti-stereotype, and I’m happy to say I have also met some truly lovely drivers. Going right back to when this country girl (bog-hopper, culchie, teuchter – call me what you like) started going out in the ‘big city’ and the drivers of sky cabs would put up with the caterwauling of a carload of drunken* teenage girls as we attempted, by way of our ‘harmonies’, to get a few pounds knocked off the fare. God bless them. Not only did they refrain from ejecting us from their car for crimes against eardrums, they actually gave us a discount – and greeted us with great aplomb the following week when we clambered into their car for another verse of California Dreamin’ (with seconds… oh dear).

More recently, arriving at Edinburgh airport at ungodly o’clock off a delayed flight, I was mightily cheered to discover myself on board the karma taxi. I gave the girl next to me in the queue a ‘lift’ because her house was on my way, which led to a chat with the driver about good deeds. He's a big believer in karma and every day he gives a free fare to someone he thinks either needs or deserves it. Like the old lady who’d decided to splash out on a taxi home from the bingo, rather than the bus, after a little win. He refused to take any money off her and told her to treat herself to tea and cake the next day instead. A most excellent anti-stereotype.

Taxi drivers, at least the ones who’ve managed to keep their sense of humour, also have great stories, particularly the guys at Bristol airport. Last week one driver was telling me about another passenger who was threatening to sue the holiday company after his annual family holiday in Spain (yep, you guessed it – same place every year). They’d broken out and tried First Choice after 10 years on the trot with Thomas Cook (wild!) They went to the same hotel, the rep was fine, the flight was better. ‘So what was the problem?’ asked the driver. It was too hot. ’32 degrees every day!’ apparently. And how was that the fault of said First Choice? Well the average monthly temperature in their brochure said 28 degrees. The mind boggles.

*All very legal, I hasten to add.        *ahem*

Caution: May contain rants

‘Caution: Recipe contains nuts.’ No shit Sherlock – it’s a packet of nuts. I was enjoying my fancy-pants honey-roast cashews until I spied this gem. Have we seriously reached the stage where we need to be warned that a packet of nuts contains nuts? This type of thing has a real tendency to unleash effs and jeffs forth from my gob at a rate of knots.

Every time I see ‘Caution: Contents may be hot’ on the lid of a cup specifically designed to carry hot beverages I can’t help but shake my head and wonder where mankind is headed. Shouldn’t we be allowing a little natural selection here? These labels seem to be written expressly for utter eejits.

But of course it’s not really fools that the caution-happy companies are worried about, it’s the ambulance chasers and their greedy cohorts. It used to be that people fell over in the street and their main concern was emerging with their ego intact, now they expect a fat cheque in return for being a clumsy clod. For shame. 

The mind-numbing world of daytime TV is filthy with it – ads every five minutes encouraging people to sue the arse of each other. ‘Has someone looked at you funny? You may be entitled to compensation…’

I’m all for laws that protect the innocent or wronged, but the blame culture we find ourselves in is ludicrous. Judges are ordering rewards when they should be saying ‘Man up and get some common sense!’ Is there any hope we can apply a little perspective?

The trend for litigation undoubtedly started in the US, where they have made the transition from the ridiculous to the bizarre…apparently a Californian man is suing BMW because one of their motorbikes gave him an erection that lasted two years. There are no words.