Here Hair Here 

For anyone who does not recognise the above misquotation, it is from a film with has become a cult British Classic of the 1980s (I think – I first saw it in the 90s), Withnail and I. It is about the end of an era for the two lead characters, both in time and self and is the first film which enabled Richard E Grant to demonstrate his talent for swearing, which I once heard described as ‘making sound as though he is spitting a wasp.’

My hair, (as opposed to the hare in Withnail) has been on my mind lately, or rather all over my face as my fringe has inched its way down past the bridge of my nose and the bits at the side have started to flap about and then sink under the weight of their own energy.

I have hopeless hair. It is fine but thick and short of being set using lacquer, impossible to control. No matter what cut I get, it flies off on its own mission, or missions. It looks OK for about ten minutes after I leave the hairdresser and then all hell breaks loose. If my face was thin enough and my ears were not comparable in size with Dumbo’s then I suppose I could go for a closer cropped style, but I fear that rather then looking spikes and avant-guarde, I will just look as if I have been prepared for a stay in a  woman’s correctional facility.

I have to go to the hairdresser soon and I hate going. I see it as an absolute theft of my time and I can never settle properly in the chair. If I ‘do the double’ and get it coloured at the same time, then it takes hours. If I just go for the cut, then I can not read my book, because my head is forever being tilted this way or that. I am trying to get up the required enthusiasm for it.

I have a good book to take, but it is huge. It is the latest installment of Alan Benett’s Diaries, called, Keeping on Keeping on. As usual it contains delightful domestic snippets of daily life, tea and sandwiches eaten in church grounds, hunting for antique bric a brac and battenburg cake. This interspersed with references and commentary on news events and of course stories about writing and the theatre.

I read his first volume, Writing Home many years ago and remember thinking what a stand-out piece the collection of entries about Miss Shepherd was. This of course came to be the play and then more recently the film, The Lady in The Van.

Whether Alan and I make it to the hairdressers over the weekend remains to be seen. I have an assignment due in a few weeks’ time and this one is even worse than the rest in that it requires me to devise a fiendish plan to test organisational theory at work, roll it out and evaluate it – and in 3000 words. I really do just prefer the theoretical, but there is always some bugger insisting that assignments are practical (as opposed to useful I suppose) in nature.

Time for bed. Once again I shall slip under the bedcovers with big Alan and the dogs and see if tonight I can get more than three pages in before my eyes get too hard to keep open.



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