Sunday, 6 February 2011

Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow

Hair is hairy stuff. It wigs me out.

I was a Ginger Baby. Full-blown Mick Hucknall red ringlets. I can tell you are wincing.

The curls and the colour subsided eventually but for a brief period a couple of summers ago a few short-sighted souls said I looked like The Ginger Rodent. Since then I’ve kept my barnet short and encouraged the grey to put a wiggle on.

Toddler Who Must Be Obeyed had her first proper haircut the other day. The previous attempts being artistic lunges by Wife Features wielding kitchen scissors. Some kids find getting their hair cut traumatic and I’m told some parents find taking their wee one for his or her first trim just as traumatic. Baby’s all grown up! Boo hoo.

TWMBO was an angel and sat perfectly still while her curls were chopped and bangs were levelled.

In complete contrast a recent ‘experiment’ at Toddler’s nursery saw one wee boy heading home with his hair braided and full of kirby grips and ribbons, while one of the workers stuffed what looked like a toupee into a sandwich bag and asked me if it looked like a lot. For a child? Yes, was my reply. It was going to be a surprise gift for one lucky parent to take home. Along with their, presumably, bald child.

My latest haircut (sounds like the name of a band) was less dramatic than The Childcare Hairdo Massacre but a wee bit more exciting than TWMBO‘s saintly sitting. As it was my birthday I treated myself to a proper piece of work rather than the usual in-and-out, short back and sides for a fiver with minimal conversation.

This time I got a pre-cut discussion with my hair consultant, a head rub and shampoo, and a gentle trim with scissors rather than a brutal number three buzz cut. It apparently gives Wife Features enough to ruffle (as she is occasionally wont to do) but keeps it short enough to be low maintenance.

All of which leads me to wonder how green haircuts are. All that washing and buzzing and sweeping. Maybe that explains why guys like Swampy are so hirsute.

Hirsute but perhaps not so hygienic.

I recall a colleague from my previous life in journalism interviewing some GM protestors and telling me I owed him one because he’d braved ‘the smelly people’ for me.

I also recall attending a Donovan concert at the Findhorn Foundation (I interviewed him. He was cool. He totally believes in the power of crystals and comic book heroes) and took a friend who was somewhat freaked when a mass hug broke out among the audience during a rendition of The Hurdy Gurdy Man. Some of the concert-goers could have benefited from a tooth brushing, was the after show review I received.

Beside the environmental implications of hair there are the economic ones. I have a spendthrift friend - he’ll pull the loose change out of his pockets, smash it onto the counter in a coffee shop and ask what he can get for that - who is always neatly presented. By rights he should look like Brian Blessed or that guy Cheval who plays rugby for France. I must ask him how he justifies such expense.

And my swish hairdo? I’m worth it.

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