Do I look (any) different? Well? I swear I did right before I stepped out of the salon and WHOOOOOSH! A gust of wind hit my newly groomed barnet. Crap. I think we’re all aware of a hairdresser’s guarantee extends only as far as the door of their salon. Step over the threshold and you’re not their problem any more. Still, I can justify the cut with Josh. You remember Josh, don’t you? The doe-eyed monkey boy who cut my hair, and I mean that in the kindest way. He recognised me straight away (it had been a while), which made me wriggle in my seat with a slight discomfort but at the same time, I was grinning like an inane fool.

I think I am going to gush about him for the next two paragraphs, which is slightly concerning that the only way I am guaranteed satisfaction from a man is with a damn good haircut. I stopped short of cracking that innuendo to him, but in 45 minutes he had managed to disclose his life story from growing up to the present day while I could only mutter where I lived. Oh well, tis better he is probed than I.  

Normally I find going to the hairdresser’s a harrowing experience. I find them intimidating, patronising, bitchy and worse, they never listen to what I want done. Is it any wonder I have tried to avoid them, leaving it till six months for a haircut at one point. I get asked “Do you use straighteners? ‘'Cos your ends are really dry!” and “Have you coloured your hair?” but instead of screaming, “Well what you do you think, you daft bint?! You’re the expert – deal with it!”, I politely reply before they continue in silence. How rude as well – not exchanging a bit of banter with your client. Not Josh, though. Not once did he pick on me for inflicting damage to my hair with styling products or inquire as to when I last had my hair cut. He didn’t even ask why or who put streaks in my hair! I was waiting for that one. No, he was really nice to me and I know it’s their job to say the same old things to each client but sometimes it does work and it does make a difference so there. I'm happy, I feel good and that's all that matter plus I’ve bagged him for next time, and I’ll squeal like a diva if they refuse.

It had been a good week apart from the fact that I couldn’t attend my Japanese friend’s wedding on St Patrick’s Day. Bless, she wore a kimono too. I do have a wedding reception to attend this week, one next month and another in June. *sigh* Weddings are like buses – they come in twos and threes and each one gets more uncomfortable to bear. I know I’ll be prodded with a stick and asked, “when are you getting married?” while I try to contain myself from bursts of profanities. I hate it. I really do. It’s nobody’s business when or if I choose to marry, yet I am made to feel as if there is something seriously wrong with me if I don’t hurry up, say my vows and become a baby-making factory.

To be honest, I don’t think weddings and I go hand-in-hand. I’ve been left off the guest list for weddings of people I considered to be good friends (my mistake then), been shoved at the back of the hall to the ones I’ve been invited to (was it pity?) and even not told until a few weeks before the actual day that there is a matrimonial ceremony due take place (how bloody rude!) It’s lovely to know I’m amongst ‘friends’ (!) Oh well, it’s not as if it’s the end of the world, but if you find I still bear grudges, you’ll have a good idea why.

I think I am going to pick out my outfit now. Happy Easter, by the way. I’ll see you next Tuesday (ooh, how’s that for an entendre for everyone who harasses me about getting married! Do you get my message loud and clear?)

P.S: Mojo was stuck behind the one, the only Pat Sharpe (WOO! WOO!) in our local WH Smith, trying to get a refund for a print cartridge. Magic! Have YOU seen Pat Sharpe? If so, we want to see photos!