Surplus

Having warmed to the theme I will recycle a comment I just left in response to a man who can’t be bought with a peanut for the price of a cocktail.

Two years ago a seagull shat on my head right bang centre of town. It felt like a huge raindrop on the crown of my head (you know, where your hair divides into front, sides, and back – the zenith as it were). However, it wasn’t raining. I tentatively felt the spot, inspected my finger tips and Watson to my Sherlock beat a determined retreat into the department store right next to me. Cosmetic departments always on the ground floor. And where they flog you beauty there will be tissues.

By golly, how lucky I was: I latched onto a counter with eyecandy complete with eyeliner in the shape of sex on legs. And no, I am not a cradle snatcher. I asked him for a tissue or five. To the credit of his upbringing and good manners he did not laugh when I told him what it was for. He only smiled. And asked me to come back for a make over once I’d recovered my composure and tidied up. I beat my retreat like a crab, only backwards.

Fast forward a couple of years: Now I live in true seagull city. None of them shit on me. Has my luck run out?

U

Grey to me, gray to you

It’s annoying when you think you are going against a trend – which is my want – only to find some fashion having caught up with you before you’ve had a chance to  be different.

No sooner have I bemoaned my lack of grey/gray hair (I want to be the next Susan Sontag and her white streak) no sooner does The Times inform me that young women do now frequent the same hairdressers in the finest of London as I used to before I headed for impecunity (it’s not funny: Falling from a height does have the ouch factor – will return to subject of poverty another time, and don’t give me genteel). Yes, grey/gray. So youngsters in their bloom will initiate grey. Fine. Do what you must. I have always gone with the flow and have not ever ever ever in my life let my hair be coloured. No henna or platinum for me. Genes gave me what genes see fit and who am I to argue? Highlights? Streaks? Go and find another victim. Still a good haircut is a must. And that’s where splits end.

I am with Geroge Clooney on going gray gracefully.

Yes, so one minute the young dye their hair grey, the next (yesterday) I learn that a new pill (naturally by L’Oreal) has been invented to keep gray at bay. So far so nothing. The amusing part being that the company will not be able to prove their “science” until about ten years in the future. A bit like making money whilst many a man hoping for the bold spot spouting.

On a side note: It’s one of the few products the industry can not test on animals because animals produce their own fur – HA – with the required ingredients to keep them in colour.

Sometimes I look at my parents and wonder. My hair is a mess. For years the most accomplished have told me that I am a rainbow of colours and thickness of my hair varies from the very thin to the thick. Thus a challenge to scissors.

Rounding up: Every time I detect a grey/gray hair I am being told it’s only blond gone blonder in the sun.

I’ll get there one day.

U

PS You may blame Val of www.absurdoldbird.wordpress.com for my taking up one of her strands the other day

Hairy

This is platform U and may I make an announcement:

Grannymar has missed the train.

As clues go it’s not cryptic. Don’t worry, Grannymar. Ramana hasn’t even found the station yet. Just stay where you are. In the meantime please do keep your ever growing playground in check, make sure they all stand in line and have a clean handkerchief at all times. Now, children, follow the leader. Because, if you don’t, you will never ever be spoken to again. Your existence will not be acknowledged. Because Grannymar is kind and just, sweet and full of herself and forgiveness. It’s what keeps her so slim. And her comments so short. And vacuous. Indeed, maybe unnoticed by Ramana who has his own problems, she is now beginning to repeat herself.

So remember: KISS (keep it simple stupids) when it comes to GM and you’ll be just fine. Having said that I do miss Grannymar’s needle classes  (I do; for god’s sake can I say anything people will actually believe?); apart from peeling tons of potatos for our respective siblings an interest in stitching the one thing we share. Pity. Still, how does the saying go: You can lead a horse in vain to find some water.

Hot tip of the day, GM, once told to me by my father when I was barely out of my nappies: There is nothing more off putting, less erotic, for a man, than to come across the dead cuttings of a woman’s crowning glory – whether on the floor, in the toilet,  in your comb or preserved for eternity on your blog. Why do you think a large contingent of the most eminent (male) hairdressers have no sexual interest in women?

Hugs and kisses,

U

The darkness blues

Newsflash from your very own Moaning Minnie:

Dawn has broken on 22 June (or at least for those of us who do NOT limp behind across the wrong side of the Atlantic).

21 June being the longest day of the year we are now marching towards the trenches of December. Yes, I know: I am a bundle of fun, aren’t I? My mother still hasn’t forgiven me for presenting her with a birthday card on occasion of her 40th stating that 50 is on the horizon. It was a perfectly valid observation. However, what the sender says is not always received in the spirit of one’s  own and often misguided humoUr.

Still, gaffes tend to make the best anecdotes some years down the line.

Going to smell the roses and the freshly erupted Jasmine,

U

Deja vue

This Thursday morning really takes the pits.

First: Remaining cat has decided to move out — probably on account of suddenly re-emerged flea population (must be the warm weather). Consequently I vaccuum like previously mentioned Dyson possessed, spend a fortune on flea spray, endanger my health by applying the damn stuff all over the house. Then, and since I don’t smoke, I visit a certain blog for a moment of light relief.

Thus disappointment lies (it was like smoking outside when it rains).

However, have now built conclusive and convincing argument that you will get an insight into a person by what they think is funny. Since I have recently gone off large-scale-bitching as it’s too much of an effort I shall only say: GM’s (and by implication Ramana’s) Today’s Special on the menu was lame. Not least because I have yet to find a grown man who cries over a rabbit. And as my son would say to both GM and Ramana: “You are BLONDIST.” Which reminds me: Why is it only ever the FEMALE blonde who is made out to be challenged in the brain department when there are so many male Arians (and Swedes) running around? Try and answer that one – but please be intelligent about it – even if you are of a mousey or any other shade.

U

The little Mermaid

 

As a rule of thumb I recommend to try and make yourself sound dumber than you are.

It’ll lull  people into a false sense of SUPERIORITY; only to then find themselves ambushed  from behind when you yourself enter the more contemptuous of your diverse polar inclinations. If I’ve lost you now don’t worry: Hansel and Gretel too were pushed to find their way back. That teaches you to rely on breadcrumbs. Elementary, one would have thought. Still, in the end the witch got her roasting. And that’s why you should be careful in your choice of which fairy tale you want to star in.

U

Let’s talk girly

For light relief I will turn to gaelikaa’s reflections on henna.

Yes,  gaelikaa, henna, how quaint, how retro; thought it had died ca 1975.

I am proud to say that I have never interfered with the colour of my hair. And not only because London’s finest hairdressers have told me that women will pay an awful lot of money to achieve the shade that comes naturally to me. And, gaelikaa, if my hair went white, which appears highly unlikely, I’d be happy. In fact, read in one of the weekend’s broadsheets that women now have their hair dyed silver or ‘pepper and salt’ to achieve that certain “je ne sais quoi” . Which reminds me: All of  you who recently didn’t pick me up on my mistake re Tina Brown – I was actually referring to Anna Wintour. Same difference.

Girlfriends (THEN and now) always messing with their hair till even their own mothers can’t remember the original shade. I don’t get it, never have. Let’s forget the money – but the time invested!!!!!!!!!!!!! Why argue with nature? Made a complete ass of myself a couple of years ago when English side of family met up and I couldn’t figure out why ex sister-in-law looked unfamiliar. Until it came to me and, as only I can,  proffered right in the middle of the conversation my Eureka: From a very stylish short haired black she’d gone to a bland mid length blond bob. My observation went down like a lead balloon with her husband; and please do not believe that blonds have more fun. They don’t if the colour is fake.

I dare say my mother’s frequent visits to the hairdresser (and she was always with the latest fashion, whether Jackie Kennedy or Mary Quant) traumatised me in the hair department. She’d come home, fling her handbag into a corner, storm into the bathroom, look into the mirror, ruffle her hair and cry. Any soothing words that she looked great didn’t make her outrage any better. Till my father came home … till the next visit to the hairdresser.

Still, I myself am at a hairy crossroads this minute. Nothing to do with colour but length. Having been struck down for months, lying on the sofa like a TB stricken pale poet in a sanatorium in Davos/Switzerland, my long hair has matted beyond redemption. It’s awful. I watch repeat episodes of Sherlock Holmes whilst trying to untangle that god almighty mess. It’s not going to happen. So far I have resisted to go the impetuous road of least resistence and just cut all those knots out. All the people in my life prefer me with hair below my chin: My face is  square(ish) with prominent cheekbones (must post photo) so short hair would probably freak out all the babies in the neighbourhood - not least my son, and he isn’t even a baby any more.

However you respond, please do not suggest that I use olive oil to untangle the mess. It doesn’t work.

U

PS gaelikaa, I would have left a shortened version of this my comment on your blog but, since your employing bouncers at the gates of your musings,  I can’t get through the door.