Daphne Books a Haircut
Regular readers may remember my Hairdresser Traumas.
I used to have my hair cut by David, who was lovely because he didn't want to talk about hair, and neither did I. We talked about lots of different things, and he cut my hair, and it didn't need any input or decisions from me.
But he was a very heavy smoker, and one year slipped on the ice, and hurt his back so couldn't walk for a while, and because of the smoking got gangrene in his legs and had to have them amputated. He never did give up smoking and finally he died a few years ago.
After that, I've been going to The Woman Who Radiates Stress: let us call her Mad Barbara, though that isn't her name. She's always shouting at her juniors and generally getting things horribly wrong. Last time she dyed my hair bright ginger by mistake, and although this was quite fun in some ways, everyone agreed that I should change hairdressers - including some of my blog readers, thank you.
But I hadn't time to think about it - - well, let's face it, I don't want to. And then I looked in the mirror and - well, my hair doesn't grow down so much as OUT. So I currently look like a ginger Eighties throwback on a very bad hair day.
The moment had arrived.
I choose my hairdressers with care. Oh yes. Mad Barbara is the nearest and the next nearest is about another fifty yards down the road, so I thought I'd try them. I'm always so busy that I can't be bothered trekking halfway across Leeds to have my hair cut, even if Vidal Sassoon or Nicky Clarke were to offer to do it for free.
So I looked at the shop which has a straightforward name and not one of those gimmicky ones that hairdressers seem to go in for. Clipso. Cut and Dried. The Cuttery. Or - my favourite - Val d'Isere which is a ski resort in France - - but if you say it in a Yorkshire accent you will find out what Val does.
I walked in and a lady came up to me and smiled. "Would you like to book an appointment?" The place seemed strangely quiet and calm, compared with what I'm used to.
I have booked an appointment for quarter to one on Saturday. I left with strange feelings of guilt. I expected Mad Barbara to pounce from behind a lamp post shouting about my disloyalty.
I'll let you know how it goes.
I used to have my hair cut by David, who was lovely because he didn't want to talk about hair, and neither did I. We talked about lots of different things, and he cut my hair, and it didn't need any input or decisions from me.
But he was a very heavy smoker, and one year slipped on the ice, and hurt his back so couldn't walk for a while, and because of the smoking got gangrene in his legs and had to have them amputated. He never did give up smoking and finally he died a few years ago.
After that, I've been going to The Woman Who Radiates Stress: let us call her Mad Barbara, though that isn't her name. She's always shouting at her juniors and generally getting things horribly wrong. Last time she dyed my hair bright ginger by mistake, and although this was quite fun in some ways, everyone agreed that I should change hairdressers - including some of my blog readers, thank you.
But I hadn't time to think about it - - well, let's face it, I don't want to. And then I looked in the mirror and - well, my hair doesn't grow down so much as OUT. So I currently look like a ginger Eighties throwback on a very bad hair day.
The moment had arrived.
I choose my hairdressers with care. Oh yes. Mad Barbara is the nearest and the next nearest is about another fifty yards down the road, so I thought I'd try them. I'm always so busy that I can't be bothered trekking halfway across Leeds to have my hair cut, even if Vidal Sassoon or Nicky Clarke were to offer to do it for free.
So I looked at the shop which has a straightforward name and not one of those gimmicky ones that hairdressers seem to go in for. Clipso. Cut and Dried. The Cuttery. Or - my favourite - Val d'Isere which is a ski resort in France - - but if you say it in a Yorkshire accent you will find out what Val does.
I walked in and a lady came up to me and smiled. "Would you like to book an appointment?" The place seemed strangely quiet and calm, compared with what I'm used to.
I have booked an appointment for quarter to one on Saturday. I left with strange feelings of guilt. I expected Mad Barbara to pounce from behind a lamp post shouting about my disloyalty.
I'll let you know how it goes.
posted by Daphne at 6:19 pm
8 Comments:
I said Val d'Isere several times in my sexy Yorkshire accent but I still didn't get it...oh wait a minute! Val dyes hair! It's the same with chip shops... such a bizarre range of names...The Codfather etc..
Not being Yorkshire born and bred maybe my translation (Val Does Hair) isn't right either.
Val Dyes Hair.......Val Does Hair......we're just splitting hairs now.
As long as it's not Val Destroys Hair you'll be ok, Daffy.
Wow, fantastic! I promise there is no sarcasm in my voice, I really do mean it, it is fantastic that you have finally quit Mad Barbara - shame the lovely David didn't quit smoking.
I hope your new hairdresser is wonderful. Are they going to dye as well as cut your hair? Keep the red. I think, in your case, ginger is not the right adjective - it's RED!
Val does 'air!
Excellent.
I really need to get mine done too, but can't face it.
If the hairdresser is left handed run like hell!
"Val Does Hair" is the simple translation - - you see, YP, it's your unique South Yorkshire accent - it may indeed be sexy but it just couldn't quite get there. Clearly Silverback has lived in Leeds long enough to pick up the lingo. I'll let you know how it all goes after tomorrow's ordeal - - sorry, tomorrow's lovely pampering session.
I'm growing my hair at the moment but going to the barber tomorrow to get a short back and sides (but nowt off the top).
Well, I don't live in either Leeds or South Yorkshire, but I got "Val Does Hair" immediately, with a little help from Daphne's saying I'd find out what Val DOES (caps added).
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