I’m going nowhere.
Although this statement is worthy of an existential crisis, today it’s a practical, factual statement of intent. We went out early for breakfast and that’s that.
30 degrees in London is just too hot, we could go for a drive with the air con on, but air quality is poor too and there are road signs suggesting that drivers switch their engines off when at traffic lights. You can add to London’s environmental news, that humidity is high. I can understand that heat stroke and breathing issues are serious, possibly deadly, but it’s the humidity that does my head in. Actually it’s my hair it does in, a high level of humidity turns it to candy floss fluff.
Yesterday I was so hair distressed, at home, hot and bored, that I cut it. Yep, I cut my own hair off, from longer than shoulder length to shorter than chin length.
I have been planning to get it cut. My most visited hairdresser is two doors down from my last work space, she would always fit me in when I had a hair cutting whim. I virtually always get my hair cut on the spur of the moment and I need a hairdresser who’ll do what I specify, no more, no less. It’s a difficult ask, along with their undeniable skill set, most hairdressers have opinions about just what you should do with your own head. Once in their seat, you are at their mercy. Experience has left me with trust issues. Sadly, it’s just not that convenient to get to my regular coiffeur now that she’s more than a few feet away. In addition to the afore mentioned control aspect, there are appointment systems to be adhered to most places which hinder spontaneity. Friends who cut hair have lives, customers, jobs etc, my hair problems aren’t as important to them as they are to me.
I know, it’s hard to believe.
Over lockdown I started watching a hairdresser vlogger, Brad Mondo. Good name, I couldn’t have made up a better one. I couldn’t exactly say why I find him so entertaining. Anyhow, Brad has many hot tips on cutting your own hair. I followed his advice and it’s not bad. If it had been awful I would have worn a hat until I could get an appointment, with someone, somewhere, sometime.
At least the hair versus humidity aspect of my weekend, London life is more under control now.
I’m still not going out.
I’m on the sofa with an old fan blowing cool air at me. Every summer I wish we had a more attractive fan. Ours is white plastic and is missing it’s front guard, it’s been like this for many years. It works perfectly well, all night at times. Every hot spell we suffer for days before I remember we even have a fan. I wonder if I’d remember more quickly if it was one of those gorgeous, retro style, metal ones that look like a piece of a 1950’s, American aeroplane. Many people fancy one of these apparently as they are in short supply during heat waves. However, when it’s not hot and steamy, a fan is the last thing on my mind,
I should put a note in my diary.
February 1 2021
HEY TART! FORWARD PLAN, although you are currently wrapped in a blanket on the sofa, it may be horribly hot in a few months, BUY A NEW FAN.
I’ve done it.
fat tart 