The German caught me dying my tash the other night. It just adds to the catalogue of cringe this poor man has had to witness. I’ll name a few of the other ones less likely to illicit shrieking and a mass exodus in the direction of the hills.

1) Not shaving my legs for a whole month. Understandably, he refused to touch them after day 12.

2) Picking my feet. I know it’s gross, but it’s absent minded and it hardly ever happens. It’s not like I’m hacking at my big toe every evening.

3) Sniffing my own armpit. I thought it was surreptitious. Clearly not covert enough.

4) Sobbing uncontrollably throughout the entire duration of Forrest Gump. (Justified I think, given that I’d just returned from a three day bender in Manchester. However, so appalled was The German by the state I came home to him in, that his exact words were, “You’re never visiting that fucking city ever again.” And I haven’t since, actually.)

5) Busted me singing into my hairbrush infront of the mirror. Which isn’t that bad in the great scheme of things, unless you’re half cut, half naked and miming to Dido.

Oh, the intolerable shame.