I was just downstairs in a restaurant really close to my apartment. Not a very high brow place, but they make decent pizzas.

I went for a kangaroo steak stir fry in a mushroom sauce. My visiting friend went for lamb chops.

It was nothing special, just fulfilling my hungover desire for flesh of deceased animal. I was three-quarters through it when I found the hair. It was cooked into a chunk of kangaroo meat.

I'm not a very squeamish person; I pulled it out, put the chunk to once side and continued eating.

I found another, and felt I had not choice but to call the waitress over. She looked as disgusted as I did, and took it away. Within moments, a huge Turkish man with a face-obscuring handlebar moustache was at my table, telling me (and this is not a lie) that the hair was part of the mushroom sauce.

Yes. The hairs, the long wiry black hairs that bore a startling resemblance to the ones perched upon the waitress' head, were part of the dish.

She made as to put the plate back in front of me.

We left, but after paying the full amount. We did not leave a tip.

I feel nauseous.