I’m going back in…
Only this time I’ve chopped off my hair, or rather The Hairdresser I Trust Most In London wielded the scissors. Luke at Daniel Hersheson http://www.danielhersheson.com/ in Conduit Street, posh innit, took one look at my mane and grabbed a length of tatty lock, enquiring, ‘How attached are you to this?’ Two minutes later:
Looks rather smug, doesn’t he?
It’s eight years since I’ve had hair this short and then I scored a diamond. I’m fed up with looking like a drag queen or an older woman trying too hard to pull with ‘sexy’ hair. I’m not a femme fatale, I’m an irreverent tom-boy – tom-bloke? I’ve got a cackle and gumption, which sounds like a restaurant in Peckham. ‘Oh, you’ve got luffly hair.’ Well, someone else can have it, I want a life.
Honestly, I wasn’t going to rejoin but it was 20% off and my friend’s friend met someone within ONE HOUR of signing up. Admittedly she has tits to die for, a barnet to wow Beyonce, a proper job [ she's from Cornwall hahahahaha!] and is 15 years younger but that’s good, isn’t it? Isn’t it?
After Hersheson, with the wind whistling places it hasn’t whistled for a very long time, I went up to John Lewis for a food mixer but got sidelined by the sweet-smelling cosmetics department and the beautiful Brazilian Rayane, on Bobbi Brown http://www.bobbibrown.co.uk/, who did me a 30 minute free ‘Makeup Facelift’, ‘Surgery-free ways to wipe away the years.’ Don’t know about that but I’m going back for the recommended foundation and lippy.
And then I came back to Stoke Newington and went to Pilates. Figures, doesn’t it?
Now I’m avoiding the dog and finishing off the rhubarb vodka which the rellies sent down from Loch Ness: http://www.lyleorganics.com/
See you tomorrow.