Up, up and away...

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I did something yesterday which I've never done in my entire life.  Thinking back on it, I doubt that anyone with an ounce of sanity would have done this, and as I write, I am still shaking my head and raising my eyebrows to the ceiling in disbelief.

So here we go.  Confession time...

Yesterday, I went to the hairdresser before going to the hairdresser...

Yes, you read that right.  Let's see if I justify this lunacy just a little bit.

As you all know, last night we were at our friend's 50th birthday party.  A posh affair which required some taming of my wild frizzy hair into some semblance of order.  So earlier in the week, I had made an appointment with my usual hairdresser for an 'up-do'.  Now I have had a few of these before, so I know that it usually means an hour or so in the chair, three kilos of hairgrips and several cans of hairspray. I had forewarned the husband that I'd be missing in action at lunchtime.  This isn't just being polite, but more of a heads-up (excuse the pun) that my hair will look different and might need a compliment to that effect.

So appointment booked, I enjoyed a lovely breakfast with my family in my old home town.  Well I was enjoying it until the text came through from the hairdresser.  'When did you last wash your hair?'

Now I know that grubby locks go up better, so I'd purposely not washed it for a couple of days.  The hairdresser's reply? 'Can you wash it and blow dry it straight before you get here please, as I like clean hair'.

Now here's where the problem lie.  I was half an hour from the hairdresser, and one and a half hours from my appointment.  With all the will in the world, there was no way I was going to be able to get home and do a wash and blow before my appointment.

Which is why, on the way back to my car, I found myself in a uni-sex barber (not sure that hair has a sex as such?) having my hair washed and blown straight.

All done, back into the car and straight to the next hairdressers where I sat in the chair for all of seven minutes while the lady put my hair up.

It looked lovely for about an hour, until wisps of the squeaky clean hair started to escape.  Add in a bit of gentle weeding, a snooze in the deckchair and a shower, and all of a sudden my glamorous up-do was now looking like I had a dead squirrel hanging onto the back of my head.

It had to go, and with my dressing table scattered with hair grips, I made a very poor attempt at trying to leave the house last night not looking like a toilet brush.

No one said anything about my hair.

You see, alcohol does have its uses...



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