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.