A change of ‘smoke’ has caused different synapses to fire and defibrillate to life a Frankenstein of old memories.
All bits and pieces and mashed up.
One in particular is really clear.
Being dragged to the fucking Hairdressers with my Grandmother when I was 7.
I can still feel the crushing boredom of these trips.
It seemed to take hours and hours.
It only got interesting once she was rendered deaf and immobile by a hairdryer.
A monstrous thing that looked like a massive boiled egg with hoover tubing.
Then the fun would start!
I’d get on the floor and gather up hair into huge piles and using one of the foot long hairsprays, I’d see how far I could blast it.
To protect myself from the spray I’d hold one of those ‘face shield’ things in front of mine.
The sentence,
“Get up off the floor!”, featured as much as,
“Jesus Christ! Don’t TOUCH that!”, in my childhood.
Fortunately, those were the days I used to be ‘frisked’ for matches and pen-knives before I left the house, otherwise it could have been catastrophic!
Once the Saturday Girl or Trainee had wrestled the can from me, I’d go for a bit of chair spinning.
The length of time spent at that activity depended on when I had last eaten.
I have always had a fascination with books and at that time the ‘Appointment’ book was the biggest I’d ever seen.
They had one in the Doctor’s Surgery but that one was safe behind glass and protected by Harpies in Tweed and sensible shoes.
To keep me out of trouble I was allowed to sit behind the desk and look at the book.
Heaven!
NO!!…. Hell!
There was no story, it was full of ugly handwriting, ugly names and ugly numbers.
Rubbish.
Luckily, it was written in pencil and there was a eraser right next to it.
I got rid of all the ugliness and made it ready for beautiful words.
That was the last time I went to the hairdresser with my Nan.
She was so angry she went white.
When we got home she screamed at my Grandfather what I’d done.
He laughed.
The Calypso sounds of pots, pans and assorted kitchen utensils being flung about began.
She went totally ape shit and banished him to the garage.
Being a kind man, he grabbed me on the way out.
He drank Whiskey and talked about getting drunk in Singapore when he was in the Navy, while I tried to see how tightly I could wind the vice with my finger in it.
7 comments:
This is a hugely evocative story and one I share. But I used to love going to the hairdressers with my mum for her shampoo and set. It was the way they instigated control over hair chaos all the way through the process. I particularly like the way they rolled up her hair and later on, how they combed it out to form this laquered helmet. I used to practice on my plethora of dollies. They all ended up with a sticky mess of hair which I would repeatedly wash and set. Happy days.
O No!
My dad used to do us, meaning the harsuit appendage was abbreviated by his tonsorial touch ...
Nah! The guy was a closet butcher: He'd sit us on a stool by the wall, so that if we budged he'd ram our innocent heads against it. He shaved us like loony inmates! If that's not abuse, then I don't know what is.
At least you had it good, girl. O yes, a real goaler's pet you were, so you were!
(Yourself and schnee are wonderful photographers!)
Sassy.. My Nan had a similar style to the one Her Majesty sports!
Lenten.. Oh no! The 'Homemade Haircut' The Horror.
For me, I think the photo quality has more to do with the camera, rather than the photographer!
It had passed EU regulatons for use by 'a stoned incompetent'.
verification.... ufmbqlip = What happens to your mouth after the Dentist.
I remember hiding all of the bowls in the house to avoid the humiliation of a bowl cut. Although, I do remember my mum's choice of haircut nearly got me suspended when I was in year 8. It was either a no.1 or 0! How I laughed at the justice of it all [John Lennon singing in my head: [...] "and we all shine on, and the moon and the stars and the sun"... you know the rest.
Crisp-e... I have seen pictures of you as a 'youngster'!
You had some HUGE hair going on, no bowl would fit that!
What? Crisp-e had hair once? How did I miss that?
Yeah, I remember the lacquered helmet that ladies used to torture their hair into. There was also a wig stage somewhere in there where all women had to own a cheap wig and then complain about it itching.
Lenten, I have said this before to Sleepy and she always gives the same answer, it's the equipment officer. No it's NOT!!! You have a good eye girl! You have some cracking photies from before you had that camera.
AND....Crisp-e is a stonkingly good photographer too, and he could be putting photos on his blog if he doesn't have time to write!!!
Hahaha! Schnee, I will try and post again soon!
Post a Comment