Skip to main content

Welcome to the jungle...

Words from a Bird.  Day 122.

'Morning Iggy'....this was my mother's greeting as I walked into the restaurant Saturday morning for our weekly breakfast.  Just as well I had already removed my new trendy sunglasses before going in.  I had decided in the car on the way over that they weren't such a great idea.  I had done a double take in the rear view mirror, as for a nano-second I thought Ozzie Osborne had hitched a ride while I wasn't looking.  I am slowly realising that when you change your hairstyle as dramatically as I have, some thought is needed with regard to how you deal with it.

Of course, we all know how any sort of moisture in the air can destroy the sleek locks.  This means that a shower cap is de rigeur when carrying out my daily ablutions.  Of course, the chemist had nothing vaguely sensible, so I am lumbered with a psychedelic floral number.  Every time I put it on, I have to pull a 'mad old lady with no teeth of her own' face in the mirror.  It was quite funny the first few times, but the more I do it, the easier it is to see what the future holds for me and my face. 

It's at times like this that I silently thank the husband for the substantial lock on my bathroom door,  I am sure that if he ever walked in on me wearing nothing but my LSD-inspired shower cap, the sight would haunt him for the rest of his days.

Wind can be a bit of a challenge too...  It's fine when it's blowing towards you, as it pushes the hair away from your face in a kind of Elnett moment.  All very glamorous.  However, a change in wind direction is catastrophic, as I discovered yesterday morning.  As my hair wrapped itself across my face, I couldn't see where I was going, and grabbed wildly at it to try and hold it away from my eyes (should've left the Ozzie shades on).  Bearing  in mind that I was also carrying a bunch of gladioli and a handbag I must have looked like a poor man's Morrissey waving my blooms around frantically.

By the time I got back to my car, my glads were looking anything but, having developed a neat joint about half way up their long stems, and I resembled a 'before' picture on a FrizzEase advert.  But, and this is where the miracle happened, once in the car, I combed my hair.....hallelujah!  Everything just slipped back into place and once again I looked like Iggy Pop, groomed and polished.

So having spent the morning resembling various aging rock and pop stars, I pulled into home, where the husband was earning copious Brownie points doing what I call 'blue jobs' in the garden. He was repairing fence panels (bloody wind has a lot to answer for) and building a wall.

'I've just realised who you look like with that hair' says the husband.

'Who?' I asked, slightly worried as to what his answer would be.

'Linda....'

'Which one?  McCartney? Robson? Blair? Lovelace?'

'Not them,  the one out of Dallas...Sue-Ellen....'

That'll be Linda Gray then....I can live with that. 

Well at least he didn't say Axel Rose.  That was also suggested today...

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

I can't stand the rain...

The bloody rain's back then...
I suppose that this is a blessing of some sorts as it means that my hosepipe will get a well earned weekend off, and the flowers won't be looking at me through the kitchen window, wondering whether there will be any chance of me getting off my derriere and giving them a drink sometime before the next millennium.  Talking of watering flowers, I haven't had any feedback from Mrs B next door as to the complete transformation of her front garden while she's been away.  I would imagine that after two glamorous weeks away, that she will have more than enough washing to do, and perhaps hasn't had the opportunity to do a full horticultural inspection as yet.
I finally got round to cleaning Charlie out yesterday afternoon. Armed with a bin liner and some sweet smelling multi surface cleaner, I gingerly opened the door.  Oh dear Lord....it is amazing just how much detritus eight adults can make over five and a half hours, and I soon realised that…

In da club...

Boy was I glad to see the end of this week.  What with the football, the weeping colleagues (just the male ones as the female variety were quite cock-a-hoop) and the incessant watering of myself as well as the allotment, my garden, and a neighbour's garden (a greenhouse, thirty tubs, four cacti, seven bowls of hedgehog water and a scoop of mealworms each day....in the hottest fortnight on record).  Throw into the mix some rather frustrating conversations with someone who shall go unnamed, I was very glad to leave Binland on Friday afternoon.
But there have been good things too.  And isn't that what life is about?  There's no point having good things if you don't have the bad to compare them to.
I spent a lovely two hours with the Mother on Thursday discussing plants, allotments and beetroot, and I'd like to think that the highlight of her afternoon was digging up a couple to take home for her dinner that night. Or maybe it was the contraband tomato I smuggled out …

Calendar girl...

Whatever possessed me to book three separate appointments with three different doctors in one afternoon is anyone's guess.  You see, in my mind everything runs like clockwork, so allowing fifteen minutes or so between appointments was a perfectly acceptable thing to do. The problem was that all three appointments were directed at three very different parts of my body.  On my calendar, I had simply written:
Doctor 3.45 Doctor 4.15 Doctor 4.30
Had I made any notes as to which doctor was checking which bit of me?  Don't be silly.  So sitting in front of the first doctor, she asked me the $64,000 question.  'So how have you been?'
'Well the itching seems to have improved', I said helpfully.  Small pause as she checked her notes and then..
'That's great news, but I was hoping you'd have some feedback about the new inhaler'.  
So it appeared that this one was for the asthma review - I had been given a new inhaler to try out and a decision was to be made whet…