Sat down this morning and was joined by a young lady who occupied her entire journey with what I believe is commonly referred to as 'putting on the slap’. Actually this is quite a common sight as quite a number of commuters (mostly female) use their travel time to this effect.
For the most part I find this a harmless activity, and I've no fundamental objection to it. Indeed one of my greatest pleasures is a sharp application of the brakes while the current Mrs Wild is putting on her lippy in the passenger seat. How she laughs! However there was one aspect in this particular instance that did cause me a degree of discomfort.
The process varies in complexity and duration (presumably depending on the degree of transformation thought to be required) but almost always consists of the same fundamental elements. First the tool kit is produced. Usually a small-ish bag, resembling a pencil case, and mirror. Then follows an initial survey, followed by application of a matt undercoat. The water colour tin is then produced and differing top coats are applied to certain, presumably key, features (either by hand or using some form of paintbrush). Felt tips and crayons are then used to apply delicate final touches around the eyes and mouth.
I do wonder how ladies are able to create such works of art whilst in a moving vehicle, and in full public view. What happens if there is a sudden lurch, or they make a mistake? I remember chucking tins of airfix paint across the room after an accidental slip of the hand rendered the Hawker Hurricane cockpit windscreen opaque, but I've never seen that happen on the train. I’ve also never seen it all have to be rubbed out and started again. Perhaps the trick is to just carry on and pretend it was meant it to look like that all the time.
Anyway, usually that’s the process finished, but not this time. The piece de resistance was to follow. The toolkit was put away, and a small bottle produced from the handbag. Then, without so much as a ‘Do you mind if I ...’, or ‘Brace yourself, this might smart a bit ...’ a blast of perfume was applied to each wrist along with, it seemed, much of the surrounding area. For all I know this could have an expensive vintage from one of the Great French Perfume Houses, but at that proximity to the blast zone, and in a confined area, it was no less than a hostile assault on the nostrils, testing the gag reflex to the limit. Not the sort of reaction I suspect the lady in question was looking for.
Still, I suppose it masked the usual underlying smell of a decaying FCC carriage, at least for a day.
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