Still on the subject of Hairdressing:-
A Bit of a Do
I have awful hair, fine, flat and determined to be mousy. Over the years I have probably spent a lot of money on it and necessarily a lot of time and having moved around a lot I have visited lots and lots of different “salons”. I do seem to have more than the usual number of “experiences” and to be honest I don’t know whether that is just me or life being a bugger.
There was the stylist in Amman, Jordan who had a charming male assistant who wore a woolly sweater with “fragrant” batwing sleeves that flopped in my face every time he rubbed in the shampoo. That became a bit of a struggle, how long could I hold my breath without looking as if I was – well holding my breath. That particular stylist used to hold the dryer between his knees as he tweaked and twiddled I did worry for his fertility.
There was the time when the stylist and the junior had a blazing row half way through rolling up my perm – I know “perm” just don’t go there one has to do what one has to do. The stylist yelled at the junior, threw down her brush and galloped out of the salon, last seen heading for the coffee shop at the other end of the Mall. Well she was French but still and all. The result of that little episode was one half-head overcooked. Doesn’t it take a long time for a perm to grow out.
The one that really sticks in my mind though was in the mid eighties when the IRA were still rampaging through mainland UK vaporising children and maiming mothers. Me and my mum went into Liverpool on a shopping spree and I wanted a bit of a “do”. We past a city centre salon and mum made the mistake of saying “Oh that one’s really dear.” Well me and my new found Middle East wealth couldn’t resist that so in we went.
I should have known that the smugness gremlins were watching. Naïve and gullible I was talked into the “special” treatment and so, while Mum sat and sipped coffee and perused mags. I had my whole head covered in clay – I kid you not. To this day I don’t know what it was really supposed to do but it wouldn’t have mattered if only!! If only the water hadn’t been turned off as I waited for it to set. I had been told that the concrete would be rinsed of copiously with warm water. In the event jugs of cold were brought in from the shop next door and dribbled sparingly over my goose pimple scalp. Not good, not good at all. Oh but no, the great god Coiffure hadn’t finished yet.
I became aware that the salon was rather quiet, the towel was unceremoniously whipped from my shoulders, thankfully my hair was nearly dry! “Go this way, bye oh yes, that’s £57, thank you, out that way.” To say we were hustled was an understatement, we were shoved out into the street, the door slammed and locked behind us. You know those old cowboy movies, the ones where tumbleweed rolls down the main street and there’s a funny whistling soundtrack, uhu – we were alone, well, when I say we were alone, we were alone except for the police cars, the fire engines, the ambulances, and everything else that comes with a bomb scare in the middle of a major city.
A police man shouted to us” move along ladies, quickly now.” We moved along, we linked up and scuttled, no other word for it, scuttled out of there as quick as our rather short legs would take us. It was surreal, it was a bit scary, yes it taught me that indeed pride precedes a tumble and vanity is a sin that will be punished, somehow, it will be punished. All ended well though, Marks and Spencers was still open!!!