Festival of Fringe

Of late, I have been sporting a fringe. Straight down, straight across, and hanging anywhere from just above my eyebrows to poking me in the eye, depending on whether I'd trimmed it lately.

"I'd trimmed it." These are the fateful words which trigger our sad tale. Being a penny-pincher right now, I refuse to go to a hairdresser just to pay them to make three broad snips along my eyebrows. I have been trimming my own fringe, and most of the time, doing an ok job. But once, just once, my hairdressing skills clearly absented me. It was a dark day on which I decided to employ creativity into my shearing routine.

I'd been feeling bored with my hair. I'd been feeling confident about my snipping skills. I'd been watching far too many back episodes of 'Love My Way'. And so, when I picked up the scissors, I was certain I had the skills to emulate Claudia Karvan's fringe.

I did not.

Do you know how difficult it is to swallow your pride, call around hairdressers, explain your 'fringe emergency', and hope they can fix it for a reasonable budget price? It's not easy, I can assure you. I was so glad I went to Nick's hairdresser. There a lovely European lady reassured me that everyone cuts their own hair at some point in their lives (sure, but they're normally about five years old), and that I actually hadn't done too bad a job of it. She talked me through all my (two) options, advised what she thought was the best, and patiently snipped away, explaining all the time what she was doing and why.

When she stepped back (after a free blow dry!), I was amazed. My mission had been achieved. I had a choppy asymmetrical fringe, and wispy layers around my face. Sadly, I hadn't become a gorgeous, respected actress (a la Claudia) or a kooky, damaged yet talented artist ( a la Frankie, Claudia's LMW character), but I did have some very funky hair which I REALLY liked.

And all it cost me was $33, a night of panic, and a chunk of self-respect.

Insufferable intolerance

As a child, I remember hearing of the most horrible allergy I could imagine; a friend of mine could not eat chocolate! At eleven, I was aghast. Not eat chocolate? Why bother living? At twenty-five, my feelings on the matter have, if anything, probably intensified.

When I returned to France having spent six weeks travelling other parts of Europe, I experienced stomach pains I hadn't suffered since I was last in Paris. Trying to pinpoint what could be wrong (I mean, I know I'd always insisted I wasn't interested in Paris, but surely I couldn't be allergic to it???), I realised that something had been added to my diet when I joined my friend Lisa in her second home; cheese feasts.

Living in France, Lisa had discovered the joy that is French cheese, and had developed somewhat of an addiction. In fact, she suffered severe cheese withdrawals as we travelled further away from French fromage. Upon return to Paris, we enjoyed a picnic on the Champs du Mars, sampling saucisson, wine and a variety of delicious cheeses. Since her return to Melbourne, Lisa and I generally meet over a newly discovered cheese, in the hope it may live up to the lofty heights of its French cousin. I'm coming to suspect that the feeling in my stomach is not disappointment, but perhaps something far more sinister.

Lactose intolerance is a fairly common development as humans age. It occurs when the body stops producing lactase, the enzyme which breaks down lactose (milk sugars). In fact, most mammals stop producing lactase once they are weaned, making humans quite unique in the prolonged dairy consumption. However, societies with a low dairy consumption, such as Asian or Aboriginal communities, have a greater tendency towards lactose intolerance. In Caucasians or those of European descent, lactose intolerance occurs in about 5% of people.

Now I have a confession to make. I am a dairy tart. I get around in the dairy section of the supermarket; my beloved chocolate, yoghurt, cheese, icecream, milk, sour cream, and what's a cake without a dollop of cream? I love dairy. So this niggling thought has been ignored for a long time. But the stomach pain after each dairy binge is a little too coincidental.

The easiest way to test for lactose intolerance is to cut out all dairy products from the diet for a few weeks, and then slowly reintroduce items to establish which cause the biggest problems. With best intentions, I poured soy milk onto my Vita Brits and began my first lactose free day.

I'd fallen off the wagon by recess. I reasoned with myself that I didn't get stomach pain after yoghurt, so maybe the bacteria in it was countering the lactose? At lunchtime, I just HAD to eat the rest of that Mars Bar. And when we went out for pizza, well it would have been unfair of me to deny Nick a pizza with cheese. And that one with mascarpone, fetta and mozzarella did look good...

Today I started again. Fruit for breakfast. I discovered that one of my tea blends was perfectly complemented by soy milk. Then a bagel topped with... um... does goat's cheese contain lactose? After a tantrum at the realisation that I couldn't even have jam and butter (have to buy some Nuttelex), I decided to throw today's race, and ate the chevre goat cheese (yum). Tomorrow. Tomorrow I'll cut out dairy. But I can't help wondering if such painful self-denial will really be worth it...