What?



The rainbow cocktail layering tool (£9.99, Iwantoneofthose.com) is a triple-footed funnel with drop-down ball float. It restricts flow rate, so that liquids of decreasing density are prevented from mixing.

Why?



She comes in colours everywhere. She’s a pool of mixed alcohol vomit.

Well?



There can never be too much beauty, right? In fractious times, who could have a problem with a gadget that actually lets you create rainbows? Howdy. My suspicion is that another name for a layered cocktail is “an unmixed drink”. The booklet for this rainbow cocktail tool includes recipes for Blue Lagoons and John Collins – drinks that become absurd when consumed in shopping-list form. The whole thing smacks of the mystifying trend for “deconstructed” food. If I order fish and chips, I don’t want to be handed a thimble of vinegar, a pollock and a potato. But let us lift the visor of prejudice, and give this thing a red-hot go.

To begin, I consult my drinks cabinet, feeling quickly dispirited. Buckfast from New Year’s Eve. Something made from Portuguese chestnuts. Oh, Christ – Cactus Jack’s Schnapps. This will not end well. I perch the plastic tool (which looks like something one might use to inseminate a cow) over a couple of highballs and pour in ingredients, from heaviest to lightest. The liquids trickle through the narrow spout, down the plastic rod and float. They move slower than water through a campsite shower. Instead of mixing, they settle in layers. The distinct bands of primary colour look amazing.

What to call this lethal cocktail – Seizure on the Beach? Mai Tai Kill You? Photograph: Teri Pengilley/The Guardian

And then, sucking through a straw, I’m treated first to a shock of grenadine, a pleasant interval of juice, followed by a migraine-inducing lagoon of compound alcohols and an emetic hit of cream. I feel sick and confused, like I’ve cycled through the symptoms of rabies. What to call this lethal cocktail – Seizure on the Beach? Mai Tai Kill You? When I pour the others away, they stain the sink. This, however, only testifies to my mixology skills. You can, of course, stir the drink before you knock it back, and I concede chromatic cocktails might make for a happier happy hour. Many will find creative bliss here. Knock yourselves out; for me, it’s a kaleidoscope nope.

Redeeming features?



My effort looked like a Pride float, tasted like a shame sandwich. But you can’t deny the beauty of the thing.

Counter, drawer, back of the cupboard?



Somewhere over the rainbow, way up high. Higher than that. 3/5