It was brand-new, out the box. A glittering German 4×4, perfect for climbing up kerbs to park on pavements.
A Chelsea tractor, yes, they knew that. So Arthur named it Fergus – they had an old Ferguson tractor rusting by the gate at the farm next door when he was growing up.
Bundle of trouble
The baby was new too. A thumping giant at eight pounds and seven ounces, definitely a rugby player – lock forward at least, maybe even a scrum half.
Gwen chose the name Lance – as it had to be with a Dad called Arthur and living in a house called “Camelot”.
Wow, but the car was amazing to drive. Top of the range, four-and-a-half litres – pure indulgence and why not?
Both of them were at the top of their game, Arthur in the City, Gwen with her own PR outfit. High-earning DINKS (Double Income No Kids) they could afford the odd reward – like the skiing holiday they took in Austria six months before Lance arrived.
Lance was amazing, of course. So intelligent – definitely a transplant surgeon or nuclear physicist.
Reality and babies
Messy though. Every lunch bowl upside down on the floor. Every sterilised bottle dribbling on its side. And the nappies – better not to go there.
It got better when Lance graduated to a drinking mug. Two handles to hold and he liked using it. Best of all, it calmed him down. So Gwen let him have it, strapped in the back seat on the way to the office.
Sign a few cheques, crack a few heads, a quick trip to the park to feed the ducks, and home.
They were on the M25 going great and Lance had his special – a weird mix of formula and blackcurrant, but what the heck, he liked it.
Not all the time though.
Somewhere on the long Surrey stretch between Leatherhead and Chertsey, the mug went upside down on the brushed cloth seat. Gwen knew nothing because Lance was quiet and the whole lot had leaked out when they got to Shepherd’s Bush.
It didn’t mop up and it left a mark.
Worse, on the return trip Lance did a repeat performance with a full load of OJ.
Sponge and detergent when she finally got Lance down. Then the miracle gop when Ocado delivered. It got the stain out. But when she parked in the sun two days later, the residue made the inside as high as a kite.
Germs, germs everywhere
A full-on cyberchondriac Mum, Gwen knew the score. Salmonella, listeria, campylobacter, and e. coli at least. Probably a whole bunch more.
Fergus was an infected death trap on wheels and Lance was in danger.
Fergus went to the dealership to have the seat replaced and Gwen started using taxis. Until some driver gave her lip about kids upchucking in his cab.
More germs, more danger – Arthur had to drive them everywhere strapped in in the Lexus, with Gwen riding shotgun, holding Lance’s bottle while he drank. Less than ideal and a real pain until Fergus came back.
Gwen promised herself, no more drinking mug in the car – the very same afternoon that Lance screamed his lungs out through every inch of a four-and-a-half mile tailback. Another idea that never flew.
The next OJ hit was a day later.
Gwen screamed and climbed on the laptop. Somewhere out in Cyberdom there had to be an answer. Come on Google, make your magic.
The stuff arrived two days later – £8 extra for express delivery.
No smells, no germs
More formula by that stage. And a split milk carton in the luggage space, thrown there in a strop after a barney with some woman in the checkout queue.
Ammonium chloride it said on the label, an aerosol misting spray.
She got to it late one afternoon when Lance was down. Shut all the windows, put the can in the car, pressed the button and got out of there. Mist was right, more like fog – the kind that shuts airports down for three days.
Arthur came home in the middle of it. Leapt out of the Lexus scrabbling for the fire extinguisher. “For Pete’s sake, Gwen – your car’s on fire.”
She stopped him just in time. Arm wrestled the extinguisher away from him. Opened the door and let the mist escape out. Strong lemony smell, no trace of sour milk.
She gave it another bash the next day, Supermum on overkill. Again, no trace of sour milk – and the miracle gop took care of the stains. She loaded up Lance, suspicious as hell.
Except the smells were gone and Lance was happy as Larry. No sniffles, no dodgy tummy, full of the joys of spring. Still lethal with the drinking mug of course – Sir Spillalot. They averaged a new hit every one-and-a-half journeys.
Gwen got more of the stuff. Misted up the car every two days. No smells, no germs – it oxidised viruses and bacteria to nothing, could even handle that horrid Ebola.
Next coffee club morning with all the Mums complaining about colds and tummy bugs, she just sat there with Lance smelling like a rose.
Back Off, Bacteria! is the blog of Hyper Hygiene Ltd, supplier of what we’re convinced is the most effective health protection system in the world. A fully mobile, all-automatic Hypersteriliser machine mists up workplaces with ionised hydrogen peroxide, spreading everywhere and eliminating all bacteria, viruses and fungi.
Hypersteriliser units are supplied to businesses and institutions across the UK, notably the haematology and other critical units at Salford Royal Hospital, Greater Manchester; Doncaster & Bassetlaw Hospital; South Warwickshire Hospital; Coventry & Warwickshire Hospital; and Queen Victoria Hospital, East Grinstead.
The Halo Hypersteriliser system achieves 6-log Sterility Assurance Level – 99.9999% of germs destroyed. It is the only EPA-registered dry mist fogging system – EPA No 84526-6. It is also EU Biocide Article 95 Compliant.
Originally posted on 31 July 2018 @ 6:16 am
Originally posted on 31 July 2018 @ 6:16 am