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| The Experimenter |
Habitual
readers of scientific journals – the kind sold in newsagents and
marketed at the non-academic, armchair-bound hoi polloi - will
occasionally find themselves regaled with fanciful descriptions of
distant planets. These florid accounts of alien geography, assembled
from bland screeds of data, cribbed from the fuzzy, monochromatic
images of intergalactic majesty harvested by isolated space
telescopes, and subsequently imparted in the style of a Thomson's
holiday brochure, speak in wide-eyed tones of vibrant pink and green
skies dappled with clouds of hydrochloric acid the size of
continents. They wax lyrical over sparkling, crystal-clear turquoise
lakes of liquefied copper sulphate that will strip human flesh from
bone within seconds. In these off-trend, far flung worlds, that are
seemingly destined never to be troubled by the ruinous bootprint of
humankind, anything is garishly possible; the only constant being the
corrosive nature of the elements making up the atmosphere and the
hydrosphere. If there is a conclusion to be drawn, it is that man was
not meant to live anywhere that is too colourful.
In recent
years Lush – the bath and shower cosmetics chain, whose high street
outposts frequently elicit a barrage of sneezes from
olfactorily-sensitive passersby – have carved an idiosyncratic
niche for themselves as a producer of bath bombs that mimic a strain
of alien geology last seen on the set of the original series of Star
Trek.
The
Experimenter, in name alone, conjures an alarming mental image of a
disturbing sex toy designed to boldly go where no man has gone
before. Thankfully it resembles something liberated from the
semi-precious minerals exhibit of a natural history museum that
exists entirely inside the over-stimulated head-space of a two
year old child, whose recent exposure to sugary fruit squash and
colourful plastic blocks has conspired to induce an entry-level acid
trip. It is in appearance a mottled, brazenly-hued hexagonal polygon,
speckled with glittery deposits that catch the light in a pleasing
manner.
Described
in the accompanying hyperbolic bunf as “your own bathtime motion
picture” and by me as “in this regard not as good as Mad Max:
Fury Road, but about on par with Jurassic World,” it is also said
to comprise “vibrant colour, popping candy and comforting Fair
Trade vanilla.”
While the
ephemeral snap and crackle of the popping candy is well and truly
drowned out by the thunderous sound and fury of the hot tap, the
vanilla scent lingers pleasantly on the skin. Whatever your opinion
of the Experimenter, you will emerge from it a more fragrant human being than you were beforehand.
Upon
introduction to turbid water the bath bomb immediately jettisons its
colourful outer layers; an effect reminiscent of a poster paint
explosion inside a primary school art supply cupboard. Swirling,
iridescent tendrils of pink and yellow infuse the clouded surface
with a glittery shimmer as the decomposition of the bomb settles to a
gentle ferment.
In stark
contrast to the sparkly, two-dimensional cords of rainbow-tinged
suds, the water beneath assumes the leaden pall of a rain cloud. Upon
immersion into the bath the foam quickly disperses. Whether it is
absorbed into the skin or seeks shelter inside one of the bodily
orifices I cannot confidently say.
With the
initial riot of colour now thoroughly dispelled, one is left
marinating in waters reminiscent of the bleak Manchurian skies that
inspired the music of bands such as Joy Division. Anyone
entering the bathroom at this juncture could be forgiven for assuming
that you had spent the previous hours lying underneath an ailing
motor vehicle.
Maybe we
are being taught a lesson – one that resonates particularly
strongly around this time of year, when the initial burst of bright
colours that accompany the Christmas period abruptly fade, leaving us
to face January poorer in pocket, somewhat unwell, and harbouring the
nagging suspicion that we have displaced more bathwater than we would
have prior to the festive orgy of over-eating and general
self-indulgence.
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| The Experimenter (final form) |
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