One of this week’s many surveys revealed that girls spend £230 a year on creams and lotions used by their men. I’d happily allow any boy to slather himself in my Crème de la Mer if only he stayed around beyond the third date.

There are similarly mixed feelings in the office as we win the account to promote the new talking cigarette pack. The device is designed to lecture smokers about their imminent death the moment they reach for a fag. As a rule, all PR women smoke and Karoline (with a K) is the first to give it a go, only to be assailed by the pack squawking “My God, you haggard old tart. You look like a 50-year-old.” I don’t know what age she had programmed in, but as K hasn’t seen 50 for a number of summers she rather took this as an endorsement of her 20-a-day (60 if there’s a pitch on) habit and cheerfully chained it for the rest of the morning.

Ciggies are currently free from the rampant spread of personalisation led by Coca-Cola with its named cans, now offering 250 choices. They’ve added Jade, Kayleigh and Chantelle to the list but not Titania, which I thinks speaks volumes for their target demographic. Even stupid people are eventually going to get fed up with buying things with their names on. There could be a lot of Wayne left on the shelves in Manchester this autumn.

But let’s not write off summer yet. There is plenty of time for the great British tradition of drinking too much Pimm’s (easily done) and spilling it on yourself. Normally it sponges off, but a combination of new Limited Edition Elderberry and Beetroot and this season’s must-have white trousers is fatal. Vanish sales will soar.

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