Good evening friends, it’s been an age; how’ve you been? Your hair looks nice and you smell delightful. Sorry to hear about that thing that made you sad but congratulations on the thing that made you happy – I hope the things happened in that order. No, I didn’t kill myself, and thanks for asking; although of course those of you that know me are often subjected to regular mind-deterioration updates via facebook and those that don’t may imagine me to be sipping whisky in the lowlands, writing the Great American Novel the way it was always meant to be – by an Englishman in Scotland – so I shouldn’t judge. Continue reading Previously On Battlestar Galactica
A few weeks ago I decided to get a haircut but for once do something with all that dead protein. I had an abundance of it: thick, luxurious locks, tumbling down from my weird head in earthy ringlets; the hair of a Princess, in fact.
I can’t remember if I read about The Little Princess Trust first or if I had the idea of making a wig for myself out of my own hair and found out about them by accident; but put simply, chemotherapy can cause hair loss and this charity helps many young cancer sufferers by fitting them with wigs. Continue reading Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow: A Sponsored Shearing