The October Travel Book
SKIN, BONES AND BODILY FLUIDS
Could paper cuts kill you?
If you knew the potential danger of paper cuts, you wouldn't be reading this book. In fact, you'd never have picked it up in the first place, because you wouldn't dare to set foot in a book shop. Most bookworms remain blissfully unaware of the danger they put themselves in every time they settle down for a good read, as death by paper cut is an extremely rare and little-reported occurrence.
The sensation of a paper cut is familiar to most the initial shock and pain, the feeling of outrage, the niggling after-sting, aggravated by contact with liquid, and the final shedding of the affected strip of skin, which is unimpressively small in proportion to the amount of discomfort it has caused and how much you've whinged about it. But for those unlucky enough to have been infected with the Papyrus virus, the suffering doesn't end there.
This vile disease enters the bloodstream through the fingers and quickly infiltrates the entire epidermis. The viral cells latch onto skin cells and absorb their moisture, leaving the outer layer of skin dry and crinkly. Any movement the sufferer makes dislodges a shower of skin-flakes akin to chronic dandruff and is accompanied by an excruciating rustling noise which makes simple actions, such as sneaking into a cinema after the film has started, impossible. Once infected, there's no hope for the patient, and they will continue to deteriorate until there's nothing left of them but a shrivelled-up crisp that floats away on the slightest breeze.
Scientists have traced this disease as far back as the time of the pharaohs in ancient Egypt and it has been recorded in papermaking societies ever since. The virus is estimated to be present in only one in every five million sheets of paper but, frankly, we're not taking any chances we never pick up a book or go into the stationery cupboard without donning our marigolds first.
What is a monobrow for?
The monobrow a single, strong arch of hair reclining above the ocular cavities once stretched across the faces of kings, military leaders and fashion-conscious blokes the world over. Now, it is nothing more than a third-rate culinary ingredient found in Scotland's worst dining rooms. Oh, how it has fallen.
Long ago, when men were men and swords were brandished to settle pub brawls, the monobrow was an essential element of facial hair favoured above (literally) the beard or fancy 'tache. Rather than wax-strip away their furry friend, men would hope that theirs would be the thickest and most prominent in the land. The reason being that the brow provided a necessary net to catch excessive sweat, flying debris and stray food accrued during your typical tavern punch-up. The brow muscle, combined with a large mono', was known to be capable of supporting the weight of an entire slice of ham (the equivalent of a modern-day packet of pork scratchings).
As times changed, and bouncers became commonplace, the brow faded into obscurity amongst stylish, well-bred men. Some simply familiarised themselves with the latest hair removal creams and washed their central clump down the drain, while others, who needed the money, sold their shorn hair to world-class chefs who claimed the androgenic fibres (when added to salmon mousse) worked wonders for the sophisticated palate. Post-war ration conscious cuisine, however, soon put an end to this delicacy, and now it is only used as a sauce-thickening ingredient in a few suspect Glaswegian restaurants.
The monobrow did see a brief revival in the 1970s when American children fashioned brow bridges' out of beaver fur and sticky tape to create the illusion of a single hair slug. Their Blue Peter-esque efforts were in reverence of Monoman known in Japan as Mr Mono a popular comic-book hero.
Do Worms Have Willies by Sarah Herman and Lucy York is published by Summersdale (paperback; £7.99). It is also available through amazon.co.uk and all good booksellers.
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