At the Hairdresser's

You thought I'd never do it, but I did.

I was going to check on Silverback's house the other day and he'd mentioned that there was a hairdresser's near there.

So I looked along a nearby parade of shops and there was one. And it didn't even have one of those Hairdresser Names - - like Clipso or Cut and Dried.

I peered inside and it looked clean and the walls were plain white and grey - - no mauve anywhere. There were quite a few customers having things done to their hair.

So I went in. A twenty-something woman came over and smiled at me.

"Could I book an appointment for first thing on Tuesday, please?"

"Yes, of course."

So this morning off I went and when I got there I was welcomed by another smiling lady.

She didn't say any of those things that hairdressers have said to me over the years. When I was in my twenties it was always a disapproving "Who did your perm?" Those curly perms, with very tight curls, were then in fashion, and my hair was like one that hadn't quite worked.

Other hairdressers have complained that my hair is too thick, and too curly, and too dry, and said that I really shouldn't go swimming as it just makes it drier. Often they have tried against all odds to blow-dry it straight, because they have hated its curliness so much. This has not made me feel good about it, because as soon as I was out of the door the curls were back with the force of a coiled spring.

Then, when I was twenty-four, I found the hairdresser David, who was my hairdresser for many years. He knew I didn't want to talk about my hair or any of that stuff that hairdressers think you want to talk about - - have you any holidays planned? What did you do at the weekend? We talked about all sorts of things, except my hair, whilst he cut it.

Then one winter he fell on some ice outside his shop and - because he was a heavy smoker - got gangrene in both legs and had to have them amputated. He never really recovered. A couple of years later, he got a chest infection and died. I miss him - we got on well.

The only reason I drifted into having my hair cut by Mad Barbara was because she moved into the shop next door to where David had been. That, and the fact that I just don't like to think about having my hair cut, because I've always hated it so much, until it's too late to do anything about it except sigh and ring her.

But I'm trying to do things a bit differently these days. I'm very good at planning ahead with most things - - why not with haircuts?

The lady this morning didn't talk to me much. The salon was quiet. She washed my hair, and cut it, and didn't blow dry it because I told her I never do because it only goes frizzy.

My appointment was for nine o'clock and I was out of there by twenty-three minutes past.

There was a lot less excitement than there generally is at Mad Barbara's. Nobody shouted at anybody at all.

I've done it now. I've left Mad Barbara. I won't be going back.