Day of the Triffid

When do I make the first of a series of videos for my new book? The day my hair looked like the stuffing from a 500-year-old rat-infested armchair salvaged from the Volga after an apocalyptic rainstorm, that’s when. It doesn’t usually look this bad – in fact, it was looking rather wonderful until my hairdresser, the Hieronymus Bosch of the Shears, decided to leave the salon for the bowels of hell, where she rightly belongs. I so wanted to film like one of those manicured authors with glistening tresses rather than, say, like a scarecrow during the pre-harvest burnings, but them’s the breaks. As Popeye said, “I yam what I yam and dat’s what I yam.”