THE QUACK

“Something like this…” I said showing a photo of Blake Lively. It was a stuffy August day and I was in the hair salon re-blonding myself. The colourist Greg went away and came back a few minutes later pulling a trolly filled with bowls of bleach and foils. He then began the tedious task of painting my hair and wrapping each bit up like a burrito.

Meanwhile I was yapping away about this and that, and then we got onto the topic of ‘holidays.’ Greg told me he was going to Benidorm with his dad. I explained that I had never been to Benidorm, but I did own a ‘I love Benidorm’ t-shirt from when I got my ex to buy me one when he went on his lad’s trip.

“Do you know of this Sticky Vicky then?” I said.

Despite what my t-shirt said, I didn’t know much about Benidorm, but I did know it was a place where the British went so they could eat chips and drink beer in the sun. I also had heard (through a sheepish story from that lad’s trip) about Sticky Vicky – a legend who has made her name by popping ping pong balls out of her hoo-hoo. 

“Not just ping pong balls,” Greg jumped in. “I heard she put a whole melon up there.”

“A whole melon?” I cried.

And this was the beginning of the end for me. 

If you’ve read my embarrassing tale of fainting in front of James Norton, then you would know that I’m squeamish about blood. Another thing that I’m pathetic about is childbirth – I can’t even watch the Friends episodes when they are giving birth.

I’m aware that Sticky Vicky wasn’t giving birth to the melon, but my imagination started running wild and my hands began to feel a little clammy. I gulped some water and changed the subject.

“So, do you get on with your dad?” I asked.

I tried to focus on Greg’s reply, but my mind was doing all sorts with this information. Sweat gathered in my hairline, my ears began to ring. I took another gulp. 

“Dad’s a good laugh….” Greg said. “We’ve always got on….

Melon.

Ringing.

Benidorm

 I reached for the complimentary biscuit.

Ringing.

Fade.

Melon.

Black.

……I woke up to the whole salon staring down at me. I had no idea what had happened. And then, in the reflection of the mirrors, blue flashing lights.

“Oh god,” I whimpered.

At this point I still had a tonne of bleach in my hair, which left on for too long will snap my hair right off, but the paramedics were keen to assess my heart …which was arguably more vital.

So I sat in the ambulance looking like a tin women with foils sticking out from my head and wires coming from my body. The paramedics asked questions about my breakfast, family health issues, and what I thought may have caused it.

 “Must have got hot, took a turn, but I feel much better now,” I said. 

There was no way in hell I was going to tell them I have just fainted because of Sticky Vicky and her melon.

My heart was hunky dory, so the paramedics were happy to let me go, and thankfully Greg was able to take the bleach out of my hair before it all snapped off.

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