Hair today...

I always dread going to the hairdresser because it is rare that I step out of the salon with a smile on my face. More typically I am grumbling under my breath about the length (or lack of), am tucking overstyled bits behind my ears or am sporting a large poofy monstrosity because someone was a bit overzealous with the hairdryer and styling brush. Serioulsy, I came in to get my hair cut, not to be your showcase for gravity defying hair.

But the hairdresser I went to last time has had me impressed twice in a row. I even tipped the hairdresser and that's unheard of (for reasons, see above) so I figured that maybe, just maybe this salon might actually know what it's doing, so I went again.

When I arrived, my name was nowhere in the book, however. Flicking through the pages and the girl could find no sign of my name and yet I remember seeing her write it in.. She's flicking through the pages trying to find it and is getting increasingly frustrated because she also remembers putting it in -but what is this? my name has been rubbed out and someone's full head colour pencilled in instead. WTF? so a wasted journey then. Marvellous.

But ok no biggie. I said to the girl that I could come in next week. She was very apologetic and somoene above her had bumped me off the bookings (and not told her, making her look a right numpty)

So the following week I went back to have the wonderful hairdo I have come to expect from this place. I had even made sure I had enough for a tip on me.

What part of "I am growing my hair" sounds like "cut it off in great chunks"? My hair is now shorter than after my cut 10 weeks ago - in other words, she's lopped off everything I'd grown since last time and then some.

I had also explained to her that whatever she did, the sides HAD to be long enough to tie back into a ponytail, because when I'm cycling I can't have it flying in my face (dangerous, you know). The last hairdresser kept checking while cutting to make sure the sides were long enough but this one didn't, so when she was cutting hair to my earlobes I mentioned this request again. She looked at me with a pained expression and pulled my hair back into the worst ponytail I've ever seen (sort of a half-hearted grip behind the head) and... the sides fell out. And now they keep falling out. I tried to be positive and say I could clip it but frankly the sides falling out is Driving. Me. Nuts. Especially on my bike because I keep getting my hair in my eyes when I'm trying to assess how close that four ton truck is to me.

Also, it is now so short that my hair is light enough to take on the random direction change it really goes in for. When it''s long it's heavy enough to stay straight but at this length it can never quite make up it's mind which way to wave so often tries all directions at once.

stupid sodding hairdresser. Stupid sodding hair. Too short to tie back, constantly in my face, can't even tie it into cute little plaits and have to wait months to get it to its old length again.

but on the positive side. I was sat in the chair and saw the be-tinfoiled headed lady next to me and pondered: hair colour. Wonder if I should try colouring my hair *. It looks kinda drab. But I don't know what colour.

But as my hair was drying, all these golden tones came out and the natural highlights showed through and I thought: hey wow! I love my hair colour. Why would I want to change it?

so I hate my hair cut but I like my hair colour. That would be a consolation if my hair colour weren't something I already got for FREE

hmmm... *fume*

*I think I must be the only woman in the western world never to have coloured her hair, not even temporarily

he's home at last and all mine. And appears to have missed me every bit as much as I missed him. Aaaw. Having been separated and missed each other's company during the small things (cleaning our teeth together, eating meals together, doing the grocery shopping together and other minor things that are actually nauseatingly special between us) I find myself unable to get enough of him. The scent of his skin, the smell of his breath, the curve of his neck, the sound of his laugh. When will these things become boring?!

His return is great but he also seems to have brought with him a plague of mosquitoes. They must have followed him home. The nuisance that they are is why I was woken at 4am and treated to the sight of the Sous Chef, completely naked, jumping up and down swatting anything that looked vaguely insect-shaped. Seeing a naked man jumping up and down to hit things on the ceiling is much undervalued comedy.

Anyway, as a guide to our mosquito probelm, I've got 24 mosquito bites, all over me. In the shower they start to itch like crazy. However, after the bloodbath as a result of the Sous Chef's great hunting prowess, I should be left alone. Perhaps we should have the more intact exemplars stuffed and mounted.

the nice lacy blue ones

Nothing is more tragic than waking up on Christmas morning and realising you are not a 5 year old child.

I can't remember who said that but it rings true with me. Until now.

I've got this funny feeling. It's butterflies mixed with an intense anticipation and joy. It's like knowing you're about to pick up your lottery win. It's like being told that in a moment the universe's secrets will be revealed, it's like Christmas eve at age 5. There's an almost palpable magic. And it's all because he's home tomorrow evening and I get to wrap my arms around him and plant soft little kisses on the curve of his neck. I'm practically giddy with excitement. Just to be able to smell his breath.

Of course he won't have missed me nearly as much. He's been off doing exciting things, cycling all day and spending the close of each day filling up his tanks on beer and having a laugh with the boys, his cycling companions. Each day will have been new and different and loaded with novelty and surprise, while I've been at home, only too aware of his acute absence in these familiar surroundings.

But my time alone has not been monotonous. I've been studying like crazy and am catching up on my lapsed studies. Last chapter was about how baby's learn to understand and speak their native language (it's fascinating). I couldn't get the mower to work so had to resort to cutting the grass with shears (oh my aching back), I made all manner of edible goodies that are now in the freezer or fridge, I had my sister round for some in-depth man-talk and spent last night at the Foragers celebrating c-side's birthday. (HAPPY BIRTHDAY C-SIDE!) and today I'm going to clean the oven and change the bedlinen for my true love's return.

I'll also be wearing my best pants.

Yesterday evening, the Sous Chef finally crossed the border and is now in the land of cricket once more. This fact alone should make his heart more glad but unfortunately his body is not doing so well. He's cycling 70 odd miles a day with tendonitis in his knee. One of the party is a qualified physio and has been dosing him up on super strength painkillers. Call me old-fashioned but I really don't think it's a good idea to cause more damage to your body and just medicate the pain. He should be resting it not causing perhaps irreversible damage. This might put his South America plans into perspective though. I may be slow and less able to put in many miles when we cycle together but at least this slow coach stops him knackering out his body (save that for later, teehee)

oh and in other news (how overused is that expression in a blog?!) I've just discovered that all my cycling, has done some serious damage to my jeans, not to mention my reputation. The friction of cycling has meant I have invented the world's first crotchless jeans. We have a fairly relaxed dress code in this office but having your arse hanging out is a mite too far. "oh just buy a new pair" you might say, but have you forgotten what torture it is to buy jeans? Once I have the courage to attempt this quest, I'll be trying on 70+ pairs of jeans, none of which I'll be happy with and the purchase will happen only once my spirit is broken, my soul is destroyed or my patience has run out. Next weekend, I bite the bullet. The agony of the experience will take my mind of Landlord being away.

The house is very quiet without him and I've still got two weekends to get through without him. Contact opportunities are few and far between but yesterday he managed to charge his phone until full so we had two, TWO conversations. He had to stay outside to get a strong enough signal but also had to keep walking about to avoid the legendary kilt-wearing highland midges that had identified him as food. I'm touched. He could have stayed in the pub or gone straight to bed but instead he chose to ring me and put himself at the mercy of the local wildlife.

Apparently he is aching all over, having done 85 miles yesterday. I could never manage that sort of mileage in one day, especially if I had to get back in the saddle for more the following day and I'd probably not manage to phone home while walking about a field.

He's my hero. And I want to kiss him all over. And he's too far away.