Beauty and the Beast...

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In readiness for removing my clothing in a few days (Costa del Sol, your peaceful days are numbered), I headed down to my favourite beauty salon to see whether the magician who is Mrs H might be able to improve on what Mother Nature foisted on me.

I had a short list of things which needed doing, and I'd set aside two hours of my Saturday for it, so I was really looking forward to lying there doing nothing (except for talking - my mouth never gets time out).

Mrs H had everything ready for me.  A lovely warm room with Radio 2 playing softly in the background.  The offer of a cup of tea, and a snuggly blanket just in case I got cold (I'm fifty five.  I no longer feel the cold).

She also had all her equipment ready for the pending treatments.

A sander.  This for the pre-facial facial, during which seventeen layers of dead skin would be removed in a cloud of dust.  I noted that the coarser sandpaper had been chosen.  Probably after she saw my skin which looked liked one of the White Cliffs of Dover (same colour too)'

An angle grinder.  I was booked in for a pedicure.  Need I say more?  Why is it that as you get older, your nails take on the consistency of titanium?  'What colour would you like on your toenails?' asked Mrs H.  

If I had been going with some sort of colour coordination with my legs, I might have gone with Gunmetal Grey, but ever the optimist, I remembered the colour I'd had over Christmas.  'Crown Jewels please'.  Mrs H smiles.   'Do you mean Queen's Jewels?'.  Ah yes, that's the one.  

So with my toenails painted and my gorgeous facial done, it was now the turn of the eyebrows.

Which is when she got the Flymo out...

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