Not only that, the color of the shampoo was almost the same as that of the syrup. I visualized the curved font on the label now it occurred to me that exactly the same font had appeared on the tins of golden syrup I had eagerly spooned over my porridge as an eight-year-old. It seemed ridiculous to waste the shampoo.
A small shower of dandruff landed on the keyboard, and I wondered if I ought to change to a different brand of shampoo, but I had recently bought five bottles of Garnier Extra Mild, which were still sitting on the right-hand side of the cupboard under the bathroom sink, just behind a blue and white packet of paper tissues. Now, it was hard to remember how I had experienced that time. I shifted my weight, trying to find a more comfortable position, and scratched my head, using my left hand my right shoulder had still not completely recovered from the skiing accident I had suffered earlier that year, when for a few days I had felt near death. I sat, leaning slightly forward, and continued to stare at the screen, but I could think of nothing to say.
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