HAIRSPRAY... I wonder how much the average woman uses in her lifetime?

And at what age does that average woman begin to use it; and when does she stop?

Between you and me, Clare Frisby must buy it by the caseload, but don't tell her I said so!

I only ask because of an experience I had the other day in the Fenwick store in York. I'd gone in to get some new smellies - sorry, toiletries.

I suppose my nickname for them won't suffice here! But you know what I mean - eau de toilette, aftershave, deodorant (what a purposeful term that is). Smellies, you see?

Anyway, in I went, and I had to be quick because there were only six minutes left on my pay and display ticket by Clifford's Tower.

Now that had annoyed me - why won't any of these machines take five pences? The blessed little coins serve no purpose in your pocket, apart from getting stuck in awkward corners.

At least they'd have a job to do if these car parking machines took them, and I'd have got an extra hour of parking. But no, it never takes them when all that you have is five pence pieces.

So, there I was, pumping in what change I had, knowing I had an hour and a half's worth of chores and only an hour's worth of time to do them in.

Well, I'd reached the entrance to Fenwick's and in I finally went, you'll be glad to know. I had to stop within three paces.

Surrounding the whole of the toiletries counters was a smelly (and it had nothing to do with my idea of smellies ...) haze which had conducted a take-over.

I wondered what on earth it could be and then I had it. There was only one explanation - there in front of me, was a lady all done up in her finery, high heels on, nails done, make-up like you'd never seen (not even the network make-up lady would have experienced this), and clothes which would sicken, well, the wardrobe of Christa Ackroyd.

Was this all for a shopping trip?

I felt humbled in my sweater and jeans. The female psyche - something I don't understand. Well, surrounding this considerable womanly altar to cosmetics was an aura of decidedly whiffy hairspray.

It got right up your nose, and the store's air conditioning system. It had starched each strand of her hair into such precise placement, nothing could have moved it, not even a bulldozer. And that was my shopping trip.

Then, three hours later, there I was ... It was 6.15pm and I was putting the finishing touches to my appearance for the programme.

Five seconds spent on the hair; five seconds on the foundation (and that's generous); and ten seconds (wow) ... buttoning down my collar - don't you just hate those button-down collars?

Fiddly, pointless, ineffective time-wasters. Twenty seconds. That's all it took, and still the studio manager came knocking at my dressing room door to tell me I was late.

Late? I'll show them late, I thought. Just let me get my hands on a can of hairspray, and I glanced across to Peter Levy's table.

21/05/99

Converted for the new archive on 30 June 2000. Some images and formatting may have been lost in the conversion.