Happy new hair-do

Today I'm celebrating a new haircut. Well, perhaps celebrating is putting it rather strongly, because I'm not sure if I've gone a bit too short this time. I look like a squaddie. Hey ho, I expect it will grow - and we are in hat-wearing season if all else fails.

I'm at a funny age (aren't we all, I hear you cry) where hair is concerned. I'm not exactly ravaged by the march of time, but I'm clearly too old to be naturally dark all over any more. However, now that my hair is above my ears the grey is REALLY showing. What to do? Is it time to admit defeat and accept what nature has in store for me, or should I keep covering up? Maybe I should gradually go lighter and lighter and ease myself towards blonde. The trouble is that my eyebrows are dark and only certain people can get away with the two-tone look - see Billy Piper, for instance.

The stripling hairdresser who saw to me yesterday talked me through a bamboozling array of hi-lights, lo-lights (note the spelling), semi-permanent tints, quasi-tints, caps, foils, peroxide levels, bass notes, meshing, developers and finishers until I began to feel like Mel Smith in the 'gramophone' sketch from Not the Nine O'clock News. Anyhoo, I've got an appointment in five weeks' time to have something done - not quite sure what, but it will probably be fine.

Have a good weekend, folks.

'Celebrate the small things' is a bloghop instigated by VikLit on her blog Scribblings of an Aspiring Author and co-hosted by Diana Wilder, LG Keltner @ Writing Off the Edge, Cyborg Mom (Katie) and CaffeMaggieato @ mscoffeehouse. Details are here. 

Hair today...

When I was in town the other day, I was approached by a young lady who asked me if I'd like to have my hair cut at Tony & Guy for £10. Further investigation revealed that she wasn't just some random loon picking on dishevelled middle-aged women, but was a student who needed some heads to practise on. Since it's been a while since I'd had a 'do' I took the plunge.

Norwich canary, pic from pets.adflyer.co.uk

Despite the fact that Abby (for that was her name) only looked about 12, she made a lovely job. My hair is very thick and tends to be a touch unruly, if I let it (which I have just recently - who mentioned Hagrid?), so she did well to tame it. There was a worrying moment before she finished my fringe that gave me a look of a Norwich canary, but by the time she'd done I was much improved.

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I've just overheard my son talking to his friend via Mumble saying: 'You can't keep a fish in a dog-food container.' I can only imagine what led to that. It reminds me that his brother once told me: 'You can't make an omelette without grating cheese.'

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Not my mother's legs!

I had a thorough workout yesterday helping my mum into her Ted socks, those examples of sexy hosiery that guard against post-op clots or, as Wikipedia puts it: '. . . are designed to remedy impaired musculovenous pump performance caused by incompetent leg vein valves.' I love the idea of incompetent leg valves. If only they'd try harder there wouldn't be a problem!