Well this is another in an occasional series on the perils of man shaving. Sorry ladies. Some time ago I had to make use of my stand-by razor in this little gadget box of toiletry items I keep in my wash-bag. It’s one of those geeky screw together things which you just wouldn’t buy ordinarily. But not only did it save me from having to go out unshaven, it actually worked beautifully because it had a fixed head which is rare in a razor these days. What’s more the head would take the own-brand dual blades I could get in Sainsbury’s at a fraction of the cost of the rip-off Gillette variety. I know this sounds very sad but I really love that dorky razor.
I’m just recovering. No, not from the Fat Duck bug; I’m well over that and back to my fighting weight (the ‘Chris Moyles’ or as it’s more commonly known, size XXL). Last week I was having a shave whilst C was in the bath. As I changed the dull blade in my Sensor Excell, the mirror became steamed up so I was flying blind with a new and very sharp triple-bladed razor, about to shave the back of my very tender-skinned head. Regular readers will know what happened next. Yep. I didn’t just nick myself, I nearly took my f*cking ear off.