under another sun

Gleaming This morning my throat felt as if I had been eating cactus sandwiches. I hadn't, of course, so the raw throat business was highly annoying. Morning briefing teleconference rescheduled three times. During one of these interludes I sloped up to my barbers, accompanied Betty who was also on her way to get her hair done. At Betty's place they give you glasses of wine. At Just Gents all is changed. Only the walrus-faced butcher remains, and the other two, both rather good barbers, have been replaced by surly lurkers. Far worse than this is the unavoidable fact that the area of concern is aggressively spreading: the remaining hair on the top of my head is increasingly sparse. As the sausage-fingered barber worked on my thinning thatch I could glimpse the curve of my gleaming scalp like the horizon of a hostile planet. Back to work on newsletters for people attending a congress about haemophilia, and a bit more on strokes. All this good for the Kenny coffers of course....