Hair peace

[smokingboot]

All gone!

Ok not all. I am not currently a shining conehead though I have now officially left the town of Bad Barnet after yesterday's dramatic adventures. See, I couldn't carry on looking like a 1970s art teacher, so I went to Toni and Guy's hair academy where, for a fiver, they made me look like a 70s English teacher. There at 9.30, attacked by the scissors of an anxious student until 1pm, I left looking like a woman with a woolly jumper on her head. There was something strangely Barbara Streisand about the whole thing. I leapt into a random hairdresser, who chopped a lot of it off. 'Crop it!' I said, 'Leave a massive fringe at the front like Rihanna!'

'I won't do that,' She said 'I can't see it in my mind's eye and I think it could look ridiculous. Let me chop into it, give it a basic bob shape, and if you don't like it, you needn't pay for it.' I eyeballed her. How could she be a true hairdresser? Her name is Rachel. True hairdressers are called Leonardo or Vincenzo or Daveeeda or Miho.

'I need to be at the studio at 2.30!' I waved my arms at her.
'I can do this in an hour if we start now...' She said.

I now have a short bob with fading curls that randomly metamorphose into little spikes. It's been over twenty years since I had hair this short, and it's really cute. Just as well, cos my hair has cost me a massive amount of wonga in mistake rectification recently, and I need to be able to leave it alone for a while. Leonardo, I'm sorry. You aint my boy no more. I'm all about Rachel.