Today has been humiliating. SheWhoMustBeObeyed sent photos of my bald head to the family. So far I have one response, from my grand-daughter the WolfGirl.
It read: “So from Patrick Troughton’s Doctor to Captain Jean Luc Piccard??” I would deal with her later, except that she’s bigger than me and considerably more dangerous.
So instead I’ve just hidden inside the house, until the wig is ready to collect.
Still the side effects seem to have stopped for this cycle. I ate my head off tonight (liver, bacon, black pudding, white pudding, onions, mmmmmm). So that is some compensation.
Today is International Towel Day, which is being celebrated across the Earth, and elsewhere. I mention this because I got my next appointment for The Christie today. It’s to assess my progress and should be the answer to any questions. It seems appropriate therefore that it is in Department 42 of The Christie. (This is a injoke, so if you don’t understand this paragraph – DON’T PANIC, just ignore it.)
Now my only worry is to find out where my wife has stored the cut-off tights. I refuse to have them stored with my socks.