Thursday, 4 April 2013

A hair raising tale from Corfu

A woman's relationship with her hairdresser is something very special.

Mine has taken me through my short and spiky phase twenty five years ago to sleek bobs and many things in between. She's encouraged me when I wanted something different and berated me when I just went in for a trim.

'Go for something different, go on. You want to be a funky monkey not boring.'

And I always went for something new, at least twice a year. I valued my ears so went along with what she said. My hairstyle changed more often than the tyres on my car. Friends and colleagues would get used to it and then, bloop, I changed it again.

But for the last few months it's been the same. Boringly the same. I wanted to grow it long, you see, so I could have it like Meryl Streep's Mamma Mia hairdo for my Big Fat Greek Gap Year. I figured it would be easier that way, rather than having a new cut every six months.
My hairdresser pleaded with me.

'Have it cut. You're too old for long hair.'

My daughter said the same. But if Meryl Streep could do it, why not me? And I didn't want to be one of those pixie cut and highlighted fifty and sixty somethings. It works for Judi Dench, it's true.
But then she has elfin features. The ones I've seen look more like ET.
So, six months into our Greek epic, the hair is growing longer. Or was growing longer. And do you know what? It became brittle and tangled and horrible as Mr Grigg's tresses became long enough to tie up into a pony tail.

'Don't you dare, Dad,' said his youngest.

So, as we're going back to Blighty for a week in May, I contacted my hairdresser for an appointment. I wanted it like this.
'Sorry,' she said. 'I'm on holiday that week.'

Ever since that bombshell, I have been trying to persuade her and a friend to come over for a visit.

'You'd be more than welcome,' I said. 'Just bring your scissors.'

And then I remembered I have my niece's wedding to go to in a few weeks' time. And, as usual, I became impatient. So I went out and bought a fine toothed comb, a pair of barber's scissors and watched a video on YouTube.
This hair cutting lark was easy, addictive. A little bit here, a little bit there, a bit more here and then a bit more there.
An hour later and Mr Grigg looks like a schoolboy with a pudding basin cut. I, meanwhile, have an unintentional asymmetric bob which looks perfect if I permanently lean my head to the right.

A bit like this.
That's about it.

Love Maddie x

7 comments:

  1. No matter how bad it gets Never, ever, cut your own hair. Oh, too late! I actually like some men in pony tails and Mr BC threaten to try it.
    Katie atBankerchick Scratchings

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    Replies
    1. I know, I know. But once those scissors were in my hand, I just couldn't stop. If Mr Grigg did grow a ponytail, I think I'd cut it off in his sleep.

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  2. Love your blog. :-)

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    Replies
    1. And Anonymous, I love you, whoever you are. ;o)

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  3. Noooooo!
    If I so much as touched my bangs I'd have to leave town. My kindly hairdresser turns into a Gorgon when she sees evidence that I've been fooling around with the scissors.

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    Replies
    1. Mine would have my ears off in an instant. So it's lucky I'm over here where she can't catch me. Although, if I'd been over there, I wouldn't have done it!

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  4. Thank you for making me laugh. I too, cut my hair after viewing a You Tube "how to cut your hair" video. The results, similar to yours. Must admit, I enjoyed myself, especially after my hands stopped shaking.




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