The HAIRY nightmare

What is it about us women and our hair. Going for a hair appointment equates with the dentist for me - terrifying. Its such a vulnerable position in that chair, while they wield their fast sharp blades and talk about your holiday plans. Who can answer questions about foreign lands under that kind of stress? Why should we have to? And in a world where straighteners are everyone's necessity I'm still yearning for curls. At least these days I dont have to endure the perm that frizzes me into an alien lookalike, which costs a fortune in posh lotions to de-tangle. Of course now they're called 'products'. What's all that about? Have they lost the ability to specify? 
And why dont hairdressers learn about things being 'even'? Do they think we can see crooked lines in our mirror at home? I almost wish I could take a spirit level with me so that if the stylist's having a bad day I can bring her into line with the bubble. Currently its about colour. Its taken me two and a half years to trust this girl and she's destroyed it all in a two hour slot one Friday. The only compensation probably was, that I was dashing off to Blackpool for the weekend, where I fitted in just bloody perfectly.
Now it means weighing up pros and cons...do I go back and tell her, get her to repair/modify it? Endure her barely hidden fury at being challenged? Or, do I abandon her, and go and cough up more money on a new one to try and build trust with.
This has gone on for most of my life. You find one that's ok and they get pregnant or move salons, thus disappearing off the face of the earth. And is that a male conspiracy that so many good stylists get pregnant? At this rate I'll just about sort one for life when I'm getting laid out in the coffin. Let's hope she wont expect a tip. 
Ok rant over.  

Time

Catching up with people you no longer see every day, is a joy. If you've liked and loved them a lot. Hearing the party sounds surrounding them, lifts your heart.
Conversations with your lover about times past - griefs, awakenings, many things that matter still, that always will.
Appreciating what you have, however small, is of such value.

Thank god to be alive, when so many aren't.

Will they know?

So. Blogging. Scary. Unveiling. Permission to invade me. Discomforting for us both. Not everything is shareable via....
Sorrows. Joys. Fears. Will they know too much?

Abandoned

Memories in monochrome, raw and real

tasting the steam in my throat

Platforms awash with tears that they steal

the longing lingers on still. . .

A child’s despair in a world so tall

knowing she was out of my reach

Time can’t diminish the echoes of all

those carriages pulling away.

If ya can't beat 'em....

Ok .... so I give in....everyone of any note (joke) has a blog now so I thought what the hell...I may as well give it a go ....