Nothing says Christmas, to us, like Domestos. The clean before the tree goes down, the stench of the pine leaves and the glory of a freshly mopped floor, steaming with domestos.
In our old site, when we used to run Desert Island Disinfectants – tagline ‘you’re marooned on a desert island, which one disinfectant would you pack along with the bible and shakespeare?’ – time and time again the respondants we asked would pick Domestos.
Domestos: The daddy.
Lets face it, when the odds are against you and the kids / wife has been running amuck, sometimes you have to reach for the big guns.
When we hosted ‘Desert Island Disinfectant’, we always tentatively suggested to our guests that they should consider something else. The peerless Zoflora Linen Fresh, Tescos Pine Disinfectant – pound for pound, the greatest value disinfectant on sale in Britain today -the ‘mad professor’ of the cleaning aisle, Toilet Duck. (We truly live in a blessed age.)
But almost invariably, the guest would pick Domestos, and really we could not argue.
If we wanted to pick a bleach to drink in a ‘cry for help’ suicide, we’d pick either Oriental Lilly, which geniunely looks delicious:
Or else, if the gods smiled on us and we could find the bloody stuff, Bloo (RIP Sweet princess, sob):
This is what we said about Bloo (RIP, etc) at the time:
Now, we’re not saying one ought to drink bleach. One oughtn’t. But if you did decide to drink bleach, this is the one to go for.
But thinking about it, if we really really did want to do it in the whole she’s-stomped-in-talking-about-her-bloody-day-at-work-and-she’s-walked-all-over-the-bloody-carpet-in-those-muddy-shoes-again-and-i’ve-just-this-minute-put the-hoover-away-god-will-she-ever-shut-up-god-make-it-shut-up-i-just-can’t-take-anymore-i-just-can’t way, we’d go for Domestos in a heartbeat
This bad boy would strip you bare from the inside out. It would be painful -yes- but also I think glorious, too. Imagine the shit that would pour out of your guts after downing a pint of this in one?
very an inspector calls.
In fact, they never actually mention the bleach they drink in ‘An inspector calls’ but we’ve always, always thought it must be Domestos. We went to the library and found that the book was written in ’45 (you’d have thought he’d have better things to do then, I’d have been poking and prodding around nazi germany getting soveniers, for a start) and Domestos was first tenderly manufactured in 1929.
You would fizzle and boil and steam and, yes, die, but by God you’d go to the cold earth clean. You would repulse the worms and the grubs which tried to eat you and your cleanliness would spread and spread through the soil, till there were atoms of cleanliness throughout the whole, misreable earth. A legacy, indeed.
The thing about Domestos is its brutality. Most other stuff you get in the supermarket tries to hide the brutality of its origins. For instance, meat comes in little plastic trays on little white towel things now, a world away from its origins. Chickens are corn fed and pork is outdoor reared, making it sound wholesome and happy. The pig, we are forced to conclude, probably didn’t mind getting butchered, because the deal it got beforehand was so sweet. It was allowed outdoors, to range no less.
Compare and contrast that with this unapology:
Extended Germ Kill. What a wonderful combination of words. They must have spent months coming up with that phrase, it trips off the tongue delightful. Ms Gin, the wife, works as a teacher of English as a foreign language and often comes back with names of people she has taught who have jolly names like ‘sunny’ or ‘happiness’. Myself, were I to relocate to sub saharan africa and spawn another, I would call them extended germ kill. Yes, I agree, the actual meaning of the words might not go down too well, but the sound of them is delightful. Me, a desert island and a couple of kids called extended germ kill. What a fantasy.
Join us next time as we continue our Christmas Special review of Domestos. We would go on but we have to go round the vicar’s