Craic On

I’m secretly curious about what it would be like to be bald. Baldness is not necessarily the preserve of old men. I’ve been on line, investigating head coverings, for fear that my own imminent baldness should cause others to run for the hills. My sleuthing has revealed a world, of wigs and turbans and scarf tying lessons, that I’m now watching on repeat. I don’t yet care too much about losing my hair, but I imagine that there are just some settings when covering up is the right thing to do and I might care when it happens. “You want a wig?” the woman on the other end of the phone said in a tone which was rather more of a statement that a question. “ehhh,” “What’s your postcode?” “Who is this?” I asked, because no one has ever said that as a form of introduction when I answer the phone. “I’m sending you a catalogue.” “But who are you?” “You got a referral for a wig.” “But who are you?” “Well who are you?” she said. “This is Anna speaking. You called me, but I don’t know who you are.” “It’s me Marjorie, the w