Quick question: Linguette. Any ideas? No, us neither. When we saw this little beauty on our Friday night trip to the cleaning aisle (aka ‘date night’), we were intrigued.
Date night; the best night of the week. A steak ‘n’ chips, a modest car journey down the A34 to Sainsbury’s, and a passionate turn in the cleaning aisle. What is new? How many Zofloras will there be, will there be any -gulp – any new ones? Will the hallowed ‘Blu sweet tulip toilet cleaner‘ finally be back in stock (answer: no) It’s a great night out. Wait, wait, just to be clear, when we said a ‘passionate turn’ back there we didn’t mean sex. We meant passion about cleaning, not sex. Oh no. That ship has sailed. And in any case, sex in a cleaning aisle would be horrific. Sacreligious.
Linguette. Linguette. Quite an intriguing word, no? Our first thought was…. seafood. We think we ate these on a dismal camping holiday with Mrs Gin somewhere in France.
What the French call breakfast
As an aside, we detest camping. Hate it. That holiday in particular was execrably grim. A 700 mile car journey to even get there. Mrs Gin doesn’t drive on motorways, airily pronouncing it ‘Man’s work’. So, whilst she watched Eastenders on the iPlayer catch up, proclaiming over and over again how bored she was, we sweated in the sun, swerving from French lorry drivers. Then, finally, when we pull into the campsite – a field in a farmer’s back garden between a supermarket and a beach with half the French population on, we unloaded and looked at our tent.
“Look at that” we said, trying to keep our voice even.
“What?” snapped Mrs Gin. We could hear the bad temper in her voice from the journey. We might have pointed out that it was us who had driven the best part of two days. Down from Manchester, on sodden motorway, to the dusty roads of this shit hole town. 2 days dodging psychotic lorry drivers, suicidal commuters and – most dangerously of all – women drivers. But we knew better. Experience is a cruel teacher.
“If we claimed asylum, we’d immediately be upgraded.” we said pointing at the tent.
It truly was miserable. A sheet of plastic flaping indolently over a rickey bed. A bucket and an old itchy blanket.
“Do you have to do your business in that bucket?” We asked, tremulous.
“Oh of course not. There is a communal toilet” Mrs Gin said.
We inspected and returned.
“Oh God. Oh my good God” we said. We felt sick. We weren’t going to be able to have a ‘movement’ till we were back in Dover. That was already clear.
“I’m really not interested” said Mrs Gin, not looking up from her novel.
“But I mean. Even the toilet paper…It’s like school toilet paper. I wouldn’t be surprised if it had “now was your hands” printed on it.
“A wipe is a wipe” said Mrs Gin. She really can be brutally crude.
We sat down to enjoy our holiday and, dear reader, we will admit the tears flowed freely. As heavy as the Manchester rain we so dearly missed.
To make up for it, one evening Mrs Gin took us out of the campsite, past the supermarket and the autoroute and into the dismal town. We drunk pastis, we even bought a bottle of it, convinced we really really would drink it when we got back to blighty, and then Mrs Gin bought us a plate of unspecified sea food. It looked like dirty alien life.
‘Qu’est-ce que c’est?’ we asked dubiously, longing for steak ‘n’ chips and Sainsbury’s and Zoflora.
‘Linguette’ we thought the waitress said, except no she did not. For actually, in the cleaning aisle just now, we googled it and Linguette is a French word for Towel.
That means we didn’t really need that whole anecdote about camping, but we’ve typed it in now, so fuck you.
ecover multi action wipes linguettes multi-surface
What do we think? Well, to be honest, the name…..it’s quite a lot of words. It’s like a song lyric from Frank Turner, word upon word stuffed into the title with no thought of the consequences. Not Hemmingway, that’s for sure (although he is overrated too, whilst we are at it. For sale, Baby’s shoes never worn’, wow, so profound)
We get the impression the cool kids in the marketing dept. wanted to just call them Linguettes and be all enigmatic, but then the bosses got back from lunch and, fearful of change, stuffed in the ‘multi’, the ‘action’ and ‘multi-surface’. We get the impression the bosses are old school cleaning hands. A few pints at lunch, a brown suit, cigarettes, and a dislike of the iMac using, gym going new generation. Cool kids with their fancy fonts and use of words like ‘Linguette’
So what are they like? Well they smell nice. Lets be honest, though. A wipe is a wipe is a wipe, right?