Hair and care

Edwin asked us to get him a hair shampoo when we went shopping this afternoon, one for greasy hair. It is a mark of how little shopping I do that I  had never realised how many types of shampoo are on the market. The racks were solid with them – shampoos for dry hair, long hair, fine hair, delicate hair, young hair, blonde hair, even for "old hair", whatever that is. But no shampoo for greasy hair. I think the marketing people now sell it as special shampoo for full-bodied hair, or glowing hair. I was thankful that one advantage of chemotherapy might be that I won't need to worry about shampoos again; also, I am going to save a fortune if I never again need to visit a hairdressers.

On the way to Clare, we passed a car in a field. It had clearly spun off the road on a bend, hit a tree and spun at speed across the ditch and through the thin hedging. Ann said, "there's still someone in the car," so we turned back to check. Sure enough, a young but unharmed man leapt from the car to wave to us not to stop, saying he was fine and just awaiting the breakdown truck, and clearly embarrassed to be caught there.

On the way back, we stopped at The Globe, a really fine unspoiled pub with no modernising features and a wide selection of single malts. Sipping my double Dalwhinnie at a quiet table in the corner, we heard an almighty crash, and a man was lying on the floor, having fallen off his stool at the bar. A group of people rushed round him and helped him to his feet. He lost his beer, so just took a small wine and moved to sit in a proper seat near our table when he suddenly fell again, very hard on the solid tiled floor. Again, people crowded round until Ann said I was a doctor, when they all melted away and left him to Ann and me. I checked him over; he had broken nothing, but was in great pain from the fall, so we helped him to the chair.

He wasn't drunk, but told us he was under great stress because his wife has mental illness and he can't get any help. He has to do everything, and just tries to get out for a break now and then. There was no way he could drive home, so we took him back. His wife was still in night attire, telling us she'd been ill, so we led him to his armchair to sit down and recover. The incident certainly reminded me how lucky Ann and I are to have the support of each other, and put into proportion the minor inconvenience of choosing shampoos and possibly losing my own hair.