“You don’t care about fashion.”

It was made as a statement. I didn’t try to correct it since, probably, it was a bit lost in translation.

It’s not true that I don’t “CARE”. It would be better to say that I’m not really too bothered about it. It doesn’t rule my life; I don’t have to have the latest things – even if I live in one of the world’s centres of fashion. But I was with people who work in fashion and, I guess, to them it seems that I don’t really care.

R (F’s friend who is up for the weekend) said that he liked my jeans. These are, probably, about 10 years old. I’m struggling to fit into them now, of course, but at least I can still fit in these. I also, last Tuesday night, got a lot of clothes that F was throwing out – to make room in his wardrobes for all the other clothes he has. That’s why R is up – to select a load of clothes for himself.

R also said that he liked my hair. I explained that I was only growing it because I didn’t know what to do with it. He said it looked really good as it was and I should keep growing it. That’s not really “fashion” either, I suppose but it explains why F has been reluctant to advise me on what to do ……… maybe. A colleague at work asked me if it was my real colour. It’s a kind of light, mousey brown. A nothing colour. But, compared to when I had it short and it was totally grey, it is completely different. I was amazed that it has gown with colour. It wasn’t what I had expected at all.

Some people seem to like my hair and they say so. Most people, I think, don’t really like it and so, say nothing. It’s not quite shoulder length but we’re getting there.

To be honest, it feels more ‘me’. Since I was about 11, I always liked long hair. And I wanted mine long. My parents weren’t so keen and it was always a bit of a fight come hair cutting time.

Maybe I am too old for this but, really, who cares. Who knows what will happen tomorrow so I might as well do what I like. And I like it long. And it’s a little bit rebellious and I like that too.

Finally, although I probably shouldn’t tell you this, especially to Gail and Lola, I have a sort of thing with my throat. And, in spite of myself, I am a bit hypochondriac – or I would be if I let myself be. I’ve had it for about three days now. Like it’s a bit swollen but in a particular place, making it a little uncomfortable. Maybe it’s a sort of cold. Of course, I keep thinking it’s cancer or something. It probably isn’t. But it’s a thought that crosses my mind knowing, as I do, that I am on borrowed time now. And, no, I won’t be going to a doctor, not least because I don’t have one and it’s too much hassle to go and get one here. It is, almost certainly, a bit of a sore throat now that the weather has changed. Everyone is having it right now. In a few days it will be gone and then I shall stop thinking about it. So, don’t worry.

But it did make me think for a moment about not being able to eat and, therefore not being able to taste. And that worried me quite a lot. See, I’ve done enough worrying about it for all of you