Sunday, 26 January 2014

Good Hair Day

The happiness of a good haircut. I feel like I’ve been unfaithful, I keep seeing my old hairdresser’s face in my head and creating kind lies ready for if I bump into her. My new hairdresser is like a scientist and I like that. She talks about the way my hair grows, she talks about skull shapes, she suggests an idea and then googles hairstyles on her phone to show me. She has two little dogs that that sit on my lap. My old hairdresser had two dogs too but I never saw them because she came to my house. This hairdresser has an exciting flat near where I live, down an alley I’ve never been before. She gives me lemon and ginger tea and talks about Australia and her dogs riding in her bicycle basket. You can’t not like someone who has dogs in their bicycle basket. Well, I can’t. And then there is the hair, and then there is the care. Cut, dry, cut some more, dry again – with sea-salt spray!       
   ‘Should I get some sea-salt spray? I ask.
   ‘Only if you’re going to dry it with a dryer. If you leave it to dry naturally I wouldn’t worry.’
   ‘Can I leave it to dry?’ I ask, looking at my lovely new hair.
   ‘Oh yes, it will dry to the style fine.’
   So my affair is sealed, a no maintenance haircut, I’m in heaven! It’s worth the guilt.

Monday, 20 January 2014


I’ve got difficult feet; I know that. Not many shoes fit them, they hurt a lot, they demand attention. So I’d like to thank you, old pair of boots, for the support you’ve given me over the years. I’ve veered between giving you the attention you deserve; polishing, zip replacements, re-heeling, to taking you completely for granted for months at a time. You are just there. Your creases fit my creases, you protect me, keep me safe. I remember when you were new and exciting and I showed you off to everyone and made them all jealous. I don’t have to do that anymore and we're still both beautiful in our worn ways. We go together and sometimes I think you’re part of me. But you are your own thing, with your own life. Sometimes your dodgy zip drives me mad, and I have to do you up carefully these days. Sometimes you are cantankerous, which old boots have every right to be. Of course there have been others before you, but you are special, different, wonderful. You fit me perfectly and I hope you feel the same way, but I know you could have made many others equally happy.
Neither of us will last forever, but I promise I will take more care of you and do my best to keep us together for as long as possible. X X X

Sunday, 12 January 2014


Let me off this roundabout, I want to catch my breath. I want to . . . pause. I’m having a panic about circles. My life is made up of regularity. Every day, every week, every year confirms, conforms. We are indoctrinated from the beginning of memory. Alarm clocks, coffee mugs, that spinning wheel  while the computer decides to wake up, the sun. Ruled by circles. I feel like Dorothy, without the drama and the snazzy red shoes, watching the Witch’s egg timer. My sands are running out. Well maybe I’m going to forsake circularity, maybe I’m going to become linear, liney-er, run to the edge of the horizon. Maybe today I won’t brush my teeth. Maybe I won’t do the washing up. Oh dear. Deadlines do something strange to my mind. Dead line, there is my line, my horizon or is it a brick wall? From this angle the line is a full stop. Another circle.