I'm planning on making it less, erm, Playboy and more fash-on by lovingly ripping off this woman's wig. What a legend she is.
I've already fully assembled (in manner of 10 year old geek child) an Airfix 18th Century Galleon to nobly ride atop my head. The base wig sits, ready, scaring me in the middle of the night. Tomorrow I have to head into the ghettoish depths of South London to buy a weird amount of fake white hair and some chicken wire. The mockery has already begun; my friend S has just accused me of trying to fashion Big Ben out of my own hair.