I had occasion to visit the supermarket yesterday. I had been pouncing on almost any excuse not to do so, but eventually, it became a necessity. I have never enjoyed shopping at the best of times… apart from bookshops, of course… and have never been able to get my head round the equation that seems to manifest itself when the sun comes out; there seems to be a direct correlation between the rising temperature outside and the number of people choosing to incarcerate themselves in these temples to consumerism. The only mitigating factor I can think of is the air-conditioning in the supermarkets. Apart from that, I fail to see the magnetic attraction of the aisles, where whole families linger, it seems for hours. And it was hot yesterday. In Britain we wilt fast in unaccustomed heat and I blame that for my aberrant behaviour. Accepting the inevitable, I braved the trolleys, baskets and boredom, intending to dive in and out as quickly as possible.

I had barely got through the door when a beautiful young woman accosted me.

“We do threading,” she smiled. How nice for them… what on earth was she talking about? I smiled, politely curious. Intrigued, even. “Eyebrows,” she stated emphatically. “Threading?” The question was more an imperative. She stepped aside, taking my elbow and allowing me a glimpse of a Louis XIV effect dressing table and mirror, utterly incongruous in the supermarket.

Light began to dawn. I recalled the concept of threading. Twisted thread like a thousand accurately wielded tweezers at once… “We do eyebrows. Free,” she said forcefully, handing me a promotional leaflet and ushering me towards the boudoir. Ah… hmm.

Now, I know my eyebrows are untidy. I gave up plucking them years ago, though I occasionally… very occasionally… have a blitz on the strays. And I don’t do beauty parlours. Not because I don’t need them… just can’t afford them, and not too sure I would if I could. My eyebrows have always been wonky, with one a curvy arch and the other more of a dog-leg angle. And that was before the surgery that gave me a mini eye-lift on one side and leaving a small scar through the miniature caterpillar that crawls across my left temple.

“Two minutes,” said the woman, thrusting me with gentle force into the seat. “You like, you tell friends.” Now, I have the Glastonbury talk on Thursday and, what with one thing and another, I am fast running out of time. A little gentle help with grooming might not go amiss. I looked at her eyebrows… a smiling advertisement of her skill. No meagre pencilled lines here… just natural, shapely and well groomed. No one would ever know. I took the plunge. “Okay,” I breathed.

I had no time for regrets… the deft fingers twisted the thread and, before I could blink, half an eyebrow had gone in several seconds of surprising pain. Surprising because it wasn’t actually unpleasant, being over before it could be anticipated. Which set me off on a philosophical thought. Which in turn lasted a mere second before a mirror was thrust in front of me. “Very natural,” she beamed, evidently pleased with her skill and artistry.”You like? I do other one?”

I regarded the reflection. The two questions were uneasy bedfellows. Complete opposites, in fact, and prefaced by a blatant lie. “No!” and “For pity’s sake, yes!” sprang to mind as answers. One caterpillar was now a graceful, slender arch, perfect in itself, looking very odd on a face accustomed to less perfection. Mere seconds later and the other one was pruned to match. Symmetry… a novel concept and one that makes me look very strange in my own eyes. That’ll teach me.

Natural? No chance. Well groomed? Decidedly. I like? Hell no! But I am telling my friends!

Avoiding my disconcerting reflection as much as I can I have been pondering that whole perfection thing. The lady was pleased by her handiwork and rightly so… she is very skilful and made the proverbial silk purse out of my sow’s ear pair of eyebrows. On the other hand, perfection doesn’t feel right imposed on the imperfect, asymmetrical face. I have to wonder about that. We chase an illusion of perfection so often within ourselves… and not just where vanity is concerned… and if we approach what we think we seek, how often do we find that what we already had was actually closer to what is right for us? It was already there and our own insecurities and longing make us search elsewhere for what we already possess, could we but see it.

Now, if you’ll excuse me… I may need to go and buy an eyebrow pencil….