I had a long look in the mirror the other day and saw Mick Jagger looking at me. So I decided it was about time to have a go at this Botox malarkey. I remembered that Google was my best friend, so had a search and found my local 'clinic'. Nice lady explained it all and said it was as easy as falling off a log (which is all well and good unless you really have fallen off a log at one of those tree-walk things, but that's another story).Off I went, nice old building in leafy suburb. And that's were it all got weird. When I walked in there was a lady in a white coat wearing a Joan Rivers mask at the reception desk! She asked me to take a seat and help myself to the free coffee. Not long later another lady in a white coat invited me into an office - she was also wearing a Joan Rivers mask. I started to suspect someone had slipped something in my Muesli.
She asked me a few questions, took a few notes then took me into the treatment room, where there was... yes, you're there already aren't you... a lady in a white coat wearing a Joan Rivers mask.
So she asked me to lie on one of those doctors' surgery beds and peered closely at my face. As I stared at her face I suddenly realised it wasn't a mask at all! It was her real face, just kind of frozen and starey. It dawned on me that they were all their real faces. Who were they? Where did they come from? At that point I mentioned my prostate to the lady, made an excuse to use the Gents and legged it out of the door, into my car and away. Haven't slept since.
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