On a chain around her neck Ythyl Mermaid carried the key to Davy Jones’ locker, which had sunk gently to land outside her cave after Davy had discovered by the empirical method that a pirate hat provides surprisingly little protection against a cannonball. In it she kept shampoos, conditioners and even a GHD hair-straightener, which admittedly might have worked better had she had anywhere to plug it in.
Still her hair looked like the bush that other people sometimes look as if they’ve been dragged through.
Her skin was cracked – seriously cracked. And anyone who’s ever looked at their fingertips after a long bath will not be surprised to learn that her face was as wrinkled as a concertina that’s spent two years trapped down the back of a sofa.
Yet she was not short of suitors. The aquaphibians from Stingray reckoned that she was a bit of a looker.