Hmmm. I appear to have misplaced my blogging va-va-voom somewhere around here. It might be to do with the fact that my brain has crashed following three nights out - singing at Damian's on Monday, a very rowdy book club at mine on Tuesday and a night out at Ed's in Brixton yesterday. Far too much cheese and wine consumed for my diet's liking but it's all been very fun. Tonight I am off to get my barnet seen to and I cannot wait - loved my monosyllabic Polish hairdresser last time because he properly argued with me when we were discussing my style ideas, but was also wowed by the fact that the salon has massage chairs at the sinks; the prospect of lying in a massage chair on the 'firm' setting while someone washes my hair is so wondrous that I feel slightly weak-kneed just thinking about it. Bring. It. On. Although obviously the fantasy of haircuts is always slightly better than the reality, in that I go into the salon thinking I will come out looking like one of the Olsen twins, and in fact I come out looking exactly like I did before, but with my make-up slightly washed off and streaky around my forehead, and my hair a lot more blonde and bouffant, in a state of high gloss that will not be recreated until I return to the professional ten weeks later, and you get that weird thing where they whip off the protective gown and you see your same old clothes and your same old thighs and you realise that your hair is about eleven times more glamorous than the rest of your body, and it's like someone's started giving you a make-over from the top down and then got distracted after job one. Hmmm. Slightly wishing I was just going straight home to watch last night's Apprentice.
PS - ten points to anyone who gets the title reference.
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