My body is so covered in scars, gashes and holes that, in some lights, I look like one of those bodies ill-advisedly put together rather than organically grown from native chromosomes. A consequence of my lifelong wrestle with an improbable clumsiness.
So when traveling I take a kilo of bandages, plasters, wound-closures and antibiotics. Using a local analogy, this is about how I am starting to look, a once excellent specimen, now hopelessly ramshackle:
And that is my good side, on a good day. Though this is where I am likely headed, a final fusion of intelligent design and catastrophic mismanagement:
As a consequence of this continuing deterioration my local Indian barber must draw on all his skill and resources, including racy Hindi calendars and a softly curtained escape route:
and passing mandarin sellers consider themselves lucky by comparison.
Even her kid seems appalled.