Rug rethink

I’m on an alkaline diet to try to kill this cancer. This broadly consists of fish, vegetables and fruit. Shellfish, red meat, carbohydrates, sugar, dairy products, tea, coffee and alcohol are generally off the menu.  A quarter of my hair is still hanging on, thanks to the torture of the Ice Helmet which not only prolongs time for each chemo session by two hours but also leaves me with a splitting headache and completely zombified.

I’m getting rather thin on top so decided to buy a wig, delighted that my friend C wanted to accompany me. We went to Trendco on Westbourne Grove and of course C tried all the wigs too, over her luscious dark mane (there she is in the photo). We were in fits of laughter trying long wavy blonde curls which had a Miss Piggy look and auburn gamine wigs, which C said looked marvellous, although I didn’t have the nerve. I eventually settled for something similar to my usual colour and style, feeling very boring but also curious to find out if my friends would notice. C said it looked as if I’d just come out of the hairdresser’s and gave it the thumbs up, in spite of the  complete lack of originality.

The next evening I’d been invited to a dinner party so decided to give the wig its first outing. Our host is an excellent cook and a keen oenophile. I hadn’t told him about my diet, not wanting to cramp his style.  The starter was a prawn and crab salad accompanied by Sauvignon Blanc. A little of each wouldn’t wreck the diet, I thought. We were then presented with a huge, succulent haunch of venison together with Nicosia Pinot Noir from Etna. Could I resist? Unlikely. Just a small slice with plenty of vegetables and a small drop of the Pinot. The problem was that by asking for so little wine in my glass, I had to tilt my head back to drink it and then felt the wig slipping backwards. As the courses progressed: cheese and port followed by cherry pavlova, I had to keep leaving the table to adjust the wig, hopeful that the woman sitting opposite me, whom I hadn’t met before, would attribute my moving hairline to her own consumption of alcohol rather than noticing my embarrassment.