The magazine’s cover story profiled three New Zealand women and how much money they spend on beauty products and services each year. None of the trio was older than forty. 

The “low spender” amongst them spends a mere $1300 per annum. The “big spender” forks out $1800 a year - on eyelash extensions alone. Well worth the expense she says because, on the weekend you can “get up and not have to bother with mascara”. This woman’s total annual bill is $17,700 which, in addition to long eyelashes included make-up, facials, nails, tanning, hairdressing, a personal trainer, dietician and a permanent hair removal process which handily reduces the number of times “you panic because you realise you haven’t had a wax”. It was a revelatory moment. 
The scales fell from my (un-mascaraed) eyes. I do not spend nearly enough money - or time - on personal grooming! Until this moment I’d believed that it was enough to wash my hair with whatever shampoo was on special at the supermarket, shave my legs - at erratic intervals - with a plastic disposable razor, and dab on a bit of cut-price lipstick from Postie Plus. Exercise was a quick canter round the block or a ramble with the dog. Dressing up was a change of lipstick and a change of T-shirt. In extremis, it might involve putting on a skirt. Preferably without removing my jeans.

On a visit to the movies last week I discovered that an hourly cleaning regime has been instigated and a sign invites patrons to advise management if the toilets are less than savoury. 
So a sweet-scented bouquet and thanks to the State Cinema for being so responsive to this customer’s complaint.

Certain laws of nature are immutable. What goes up, must come down for example or, and this is my subject du jour, what goes in, must come out. Like all animals we excrete the waste products of our digestive systems. Unlike other species we prefer to keep the process rather private. Unavoidably however, we must occasionally perform the act in public, or at least in a public facility. Lavatory, loo, dunny or restroom the public toilet is essential to public health and private convenience. Which is not to say that all toilets are convenient. Some seem designed for maximum inconvenience. In Brunei, I saw women clad in long silky dresses and strappy sandals swan in and out of toilets looking elegant and serene. How, I wondered, did they manage this when the toilet was an excrement-splattered hole in the floor, and instead of toilet paper there was only a short plastic hose trickling cold water?