A Red, Red Rose

In a classic twist of fate, I was working at home on Friday when B sent flowers to my office.

I am in the second half of my thirties and I think that this is the third time in my life that I have received flowers at work?

So when I say that it's not often that I get the chance to bask in the glory of receiving flowers at work, I do mean it!

It worked out very well though. It seems that in my absence, these flowers spent time on the desk of every woman who works in my immediate vicinity - so B cheered up a lot of Fridays, not just mine.


So how comes I have photos on my blog? I arranged to collect them at Waterloo Station, from one of my colleagues on her way home.

I am glad that I did, even though I had that weird moment in the train station when she had gone and I was stood there like a muppet (being bumped by hoards of commuters, all racing to get trains home), while I admired and smelt my flowers.

I have to be nauseatingly honest. I was thinking,

'You know that you are with the right person when...

'...and how did he know that this pick-me-up was just what I needed, just right now?'

Of course, the answer to my question, is probably answered by my very first thought on seeing my flowers, rendering the rest of this blog post utterly superfluous.

According to this website, my partner lives approximately 4727 miles away (9.5-10.5 hours as the plane flies). It's actually Sunday morning here and I am tucked up in bed with my morning mug of coffee, my laptop and my knitting. I am sober, about to get up and head off to the swimming pool.

His day is 8 hours behind mine. I just skyped to see if he was still up. He was - he spent Saturday having 'a boys day out' (a very loose description applied to two men in their late 40s) with his best buddy and now they are at home, in the process of putting away a serious quantity of alcohol. They are not sober.

It's one of the difficulties of very long distance relationships - it's not just the miles that separate us, it is also the 8 timezones.

So when I am about to go to bed at the end of my day, tired, inarticulate and/or tipsy and/or I want to discuss couple stuff, it is mid afternoon for him, he is usually at work and not in a position to talk openly.

Vice versa when he wakes up and I am in the office, in the middle of my day.

If I wake up very early, I might catch him before he goes to bed. This is when he might want to chat but I am focused on catching my train into work, having some breakfast and getting a big mug of coffee from somewhere.

It is not easy to find time when our heads are synchronised and we can talk without one or other of us being at work, only just awake or very tired.


I do get to 'see' him via Skype most weekends but neither of us can (or should) put our lives on hold, so it is not always possible for us to 'meet' at a good compromise time of day.

To be honest, a video-call is not any kind of substitute for real time together either - life is best experienced in three dimensions.

I am not complaining, I am just explaining the challenge. In fact, the distance we live apart was pivotal to the original decision to remain friends when we first met back in July 2006. (We met through our sport.)

As our friendship has now developed into a relationship and we have decided to become a couple, we have to accept the challenge presented by the distance that we live apart (at least until we have decided what we do next).

It is interesting - this whole long distance experience has highlighted to me, just how my mindset and emotional needs alter throughout the day.

Actually, not just during the day but also across the week. I appreciate that it is the same for my partner too.

I think that it takes a decent level of awareness from us both to avoid the traps set by busy lives plus the fact that our time zones, bodyclocks and mindsets rarely coincide.

It is not hard work, it is just a fact of our relationship. I am sure that couples who live in the same timezone and even in the same city, street or house have an equal or different set of challenges to manage.

What does any of this have to do with flowers?

Well, bearing in mind the above, it's been two weeks since I saw my fella and it'll be another two until I see him again. I hate the midpoint between visits. It's a bit like Wednesdays - two days since the weekend and two days until your next weekend. It feels like an age since I saw him and I need to wait the same duration before I see him again.

As a result, I have been feeling a little bit flat.

Luckily enough, I happen to be seeing a man who understands me well enough to realise that flowers, which I love, delivered right at this moment, are the perfect boost to propel me positively through week 3.

It would be wrong of me to lay claim, on his behalf, to any of the sentiment stated in Robert Burn's 'A red, red rose'. Even though it is tempting. After all, these roses are very red and a return trip for us to see each other does almost add up to 10,000 miles!

I am simply going to get up, go look at my beautiful, scented roses for a bit and think about the man who sent them to me, to let me know how wonderful he thinks I am - it's not necessarily a bad way to spend some time on a Sunday?

Even though, the man in question has probably had so much to drink by now that he is currently passed out in bed. We-ll, it is his Saturday night, after all?!

Nature: a bit too close for comfort?!

I am working from home today and I keep catching flashes of movement out of the corner of my eye, while I am at my desk. It took me a moment to realise what was happening:

Something tells me that I have nesting blue tits?!

The little girl part of me who remembers putting nesting boxes up in back gardens with my mother when I was small is absolutely delighted. Although I don't remember any birds ever nesting in them - perhaps the fact that we had voracious, bird hunting cats had something to do with that?! As a home owner, I am a bit worried about the fact that I appear to have birds nesting underneath my weatherboard. What are the perils? Will they do any damage?

Okay, lunch over - time to get back to work and stop worrying about nesting birds!

This weekend, I plan to continue test knitting my Puss in Boots hat pattern (see above), as I have made a few modifications to make it easier for people to find standard sources on the technique to finish it. I just want to check this before I send it over to Robynn.

Edited to add: I keep forgetting to mention who I got this yarn from over at Ravelry - I bought it from the lovely yet blogless Kleindorf. You see, I spotted it languishing in her stash and so, between us, we are gifting this yarn a useful future in life - as a hat. A purple sparkly hat. Why not?!

What's in Blog Post Room 101?

It can be only one thing: socks!

I have always been clear, "I can't knit and I won't knit socks!" My reasons are:

1. I loathe working with short needles of any kind, especially circulars and dpns. It comes from finally having learnt how to knit in Primary 7 (for those of you who are familiar with the Scottish education system) by tucking a needle under one arm.
   
   Anything other than long needles reduces my 'leisurely stroll in the park' knitting pace to an absolute, 'museum exhibit tourist crawl' as I struggle to keep my needles from exploding out of my hands in an outburst of pointy chaos and dropped stitches.
   


2. I've always been very content that my socks are either black or white and bought in huge cheap bumper packs. This increases my chances of defeating the Sock Monster (who dwells inside my washing machine) and maximises my chances of finding a matching pair of socks at 6:45am (approximately) each morning, when dressing for work.
   


3. I have an inherent suspicion of anything, even remotely, evangelically promoted by others. Included in this list are bananas and jaffa cake biscuits. The first is tolerable (if slightly green), the second is simply orangey, cakey, chocolately nastiness.

With the result that I have been a bit nonplussed by other knitters' facination with knitting socks: the process, the output and their ardent enthusiasm.

I have sat and watched strangers and good friends alike, knit sock, after sock, after sock with a determined, passionate glint in their eyes. I have witnessed the love and enjoyment of sock knitting on blogs and on Ravelry. I have quietly entertained (and ignored) many, sock knitting recruitment drives.

Don't get me wrong. I can appreciate the beauty of a well crafted sock. I enjoy looking at them and I am happy to celebrate other people's sock successes. However, you would still be hard put to explain why I should make something that people will rarely see (I wear my trousers long and I do not wear socks with skirts), is not in keeping with my character (loud socks), that would take me an age to create (really) and that overall, costs a lot more than a durable, long lasting pair of commercial socks.

For me, socks are a discreet, non-item, worn to keep feet warm, stop shoes from rubbing and prevent grime adhering to the foot when walking around shoeless at home. Simple, no?

So, given my clear, reasoned and firm anti-sock knitting stance, can ANYONE explain this abberration on my part?!




















Yes, a sock. I have knitted and finished a sock (apart from the kitchener stitch bit). Albeit a rather plain and simple, badly knitted, red sock. A sock, nonetheless. Of my own free will too. I am perplexed - I don't recall anyone willingly locking themselves into their very own Room 101 in Orwell's 1984? Either I am ill or there are dark knitting forces at work?

Personally, I favour the idea of dark knitting forces and to be quite frank, I think that there have been scattered hints that the Dark Side of Knit has had me in its sights for weeks! The evidence:

• inadvertant influx of sock yarn into my stash


• a sock knitting Christmas package, lovingingly hand dyed and packaged


• a mini sock knitting lesson from Dotty


• the suspicious sight of a single skein of Koigu KPM in my Vancouver yarn stash photo


• even my mother gave me a set of sock knitting bamboo dpns at Christmas.

I am not really sure that I stood a chance. However, there may yet be hope:

I have only knitted one sock and it doesn't fit very well. Hence the reason I have not yet kitchenered it. How can something be baggy and at the same time, be pulled forwards, off the heel, despite my knitting it to the correct length before decreasing for the toe?

So all that work and I find myself a bit discouraged by the outcome. I did hope that once I had put this sock on, I would 'get it' because handknitted socks might be far more comfortable than machine made ones. I thought that this might prompt me to become an instant hand knitted sock convert?

While I was intrigued by the overall construction of my sock, I did find it very needles-all-getting-in-the-way-fiddly and a little bit dull to work (sorry). In fairness, people sitting near me were lucky not to find themselves harpooned by flying toothpicks.

I made hard and lengthy going of it. While sock knitters around the globe have churned out 1-2 pairs of socks in the past two weeks or so (some impressively patterned, I might add)...

...this sock was cast on somewhere over Canada on the 18th February. So it's taken over two painful weeks to get this far. (This includes a 3 hour train journey to visit my parents last weekend, on top of my usual weekday commutes).

So right now the idea of repeating this experience to make another ill fitting sock does not appeal - I have other, very overdue knitting to tackle on my list.

Also, now that I have made one sock, I understand their construction and proven that I can make them - so, mission accomplished. There's really no immediate reason to make another one, is there? Certainly not another sock exactly the same - why would I want to make the same thing twice? (Shh, I know I knitted three almost identical scarves recently!)

Mind you, I guess that it is a shame to have a lonely sock circling the house. I suppose that I could try feeding it to my washing machine. You know, play the monster at its own game, by feeding it a single sock - just in the hope that it will confound all known convention and spit me out two identical red hand knitted socks, so I don't have to knit another for myself?

What? You mean I am supposed to lovingly handwash this thing? Um, if this sock doesn't survive the machine, it does not survive at all - items that require expensive dry cleaning or labour intensive hand washing in my house, tend to lie forgotten at the bottom of my linen basket. I have already had a rashy run-in with Eucalan via the scratchy Noro.

I think that the only thing that could possibly entice me to keep going and make the second sock (at some point) is something that Rabbitch said when I was in Vancouver. This was seconded by Dotty who wrote something a little similiar in a comment about my mini sock knitting lesson:

You are knitting socks?! Ha! Welcome to the Dark Side of Knit (it's ok, we have cookies)!

So there it is, in black and white - the typed out price for my anti-sock knitting soul: the chance to join a knitting club with cookies on offer. Good grief, is that all it would take?!

So um, Dark Side of Knit - how about upping that offer from cookies to chocolate brownies?

Y'know, just so I don't feel too cheap when I get around to ball winding that second ball of Koigu.

I simply cannot believe that...

...my 100th blog post is about the stupid hair saga. Yet here it is.

Last night (it's Friday morning now) I was momentarily rescued from the ignominy of ginger (turned sludge by toner), black and red shades of hair. I was returned to my pre-dyed, original hair colour state by a 'colour remover'.

This is magic stuff - it does not bleach the hair, it simply removes the colour, leaving you with a slightly more porus version of your original colour. I glanced up , I saw my normal hair colour, noting that my eyebrows matched my hair colour for the first time in weeks and I heaved a massive sigh of relief.

Perfect. All that needs, I thought to myself is a few blonde streaks to distract everyone from my stray grey hairs give it definition and I am good to go.

It was not quite to be. There ensued, at great length, a debate with the colourist about colour. He kept showing me warm browns, I kept showing him natural mid-light nut browns and blondes. He took me back towards the warm browns and gingers again. We to and fro'd across the colour charts like adversaries asked to share a picnic basket. It felt like we were never going to agree.


I flicked through magazines and tried to find what I meant. I explained that I liked having some blonde in my hair and that generally, lighter hair shades made me feel happier and more confident than dark colours which generally make me look like I have a cowpat on my head pale and a bit witchy.

Well, this month folks, my hair colour (with my preferred style of blondey bits) appears to be out of fashion - not in sight on any page. Someone has filed those blonde streaks, as sported by Jennifer Aniston so long ago, under B1N. (Hair colour, not cut - please note! Picture borrowed from Hairstyles123 blog, I hope that they do not mind).

Botheration. All I needed last night was a photo of someone sporting blonde bits to lighten and brighten mid-brown hair, maybe with a mid-way colour thrown in to soften the contrast between the darker hair colour and the blondes?


How hard can it be? Hard, it seems. We argued the toss over what looked red to me (everything with even a hint of warmth, it seems). He sighed and explained that really, the magic remover could only do so much.

So while I had visions of brown hair with blonde highlights for Spring, he wanted (or needed?) to keep me in a Winter compromise - rich warm browns and gingers.

"So you want to dye my hair dark auburn red again?" I did my best to assume an aghast expression.

"No...." he trailed off, sounding uncertain.

So who won? Well, he's the colourist right?

He wields the foils, right?

On the bright side, it is not red, black and ginger - my colleagues think that it is a vast improvement.

It seems to be dark brown, with bleached bits underneath, plus some browny red that is a lot less red than the first round.

However, it is far too dark and it does makes me look a bit pale and witchy. I hope it will fade (and not into red).

My hair and I have had more than enough. We are going to retire hurt and lick our wounds. We are going to look for a new hairdresser, so that in 6-8 months time, when the disaster cut has grown out and I can see what is left of my hair after its recent chemical dosing, I can try again.

Hurrumph, pass me my knitting - I am off to sulk.

(I would show you what I am working on doing but y'know, it's not very interesting at the moment.)

Vancouver & Ravelry Yarn Haul

It's quite a discreet acquisition of yarn really:

1) 2 skeins of Classy Dream in Colour (Cocoa Kiss and Black Parade) that the fella bought for me to create Father and Son Dashing (or similiar). So - hats, scarves and now fingerless gloves? I seem to be working my way down their bodies!

2) 4 skeins of Koigu KPPPM (reds and browns) and 1 skein of Indigo Moon sock yarn (pinks) for um, socks. YES, socks. Okay, I got a bit carried away after Dotty gave me that tiny sock lesson - so it seems that 2008 will be the year that I get to grips with DPNs (or two circulars) and sock construction, after all?

3) 3 balls of RYC Lux which I acquired via Ravelry and that I picked up from the Sorting Office, the same day that I jetted off to Vancouver - I plan to test knit another Castle Couture hat because I have made a couple of modifications to the pattern and I want to verify that they are correct.

Apologies that my blog is so slow this week but I have been suffering badly from jetlag. Last night was the first night that I managed to get to sleep before 4am. It is a very strange experience trying to operate at all, let alone function properly at work, on 2-3 hours sleep.

What I can confirm is that my heart is still very firmly here:

With this man and this yarn:

Yup, he is keeping all that Classy Dream in Colour yarn safe for me - it is destined to become a jumper for him. I know, international yarn stashing. (Not bad, eh?!)

On the Subject of Simple Scarves

Itchy Scratchy Noro Strikes Again
It would not be right to move on, without showing you a final image of the itchy, scratchy Noro scarf in action and as worn by its gift recipient.

Voila! In the space of one short week that scarf was gifted, admired, worn, lost, found and gentlemanly lent to me for half an hour during a walk by the ocean.

I am relieved delighted that the fella likes it and does not find it remotely itchy. I was also (I did not tell him this at the time) quietly delighted at how well it suited him.

I have to ask, do you ever find that when you gift a handknit to someone, it takes on a whole new life of its own? Somehow, ends up looking far better on your gift recipient, than it ever did on you when you modelled it for your project record?

I cite the Landscape Scarf that I made for a colleague as my other example of this in action. There is definitely something about giving something to someone and then watching them make it entirely their own by wearing it their own way.

Mind you, this Noro scarf remembers and dislikes its maker well - it seems that it harbours me a slight grudge. Possibly for dunking it in Eucalan to soften its harsh, vegetation ridden existence?

After our short walk by the ocean, I took the Noro scarf off and the fella asked, 'What's that rash around your neck?'

'What rash?'

'That purple rash, there, around your neck.' I touched my neck, I felt itchy lumps. I sighed.

'Either the Noro or the Eucalan does not like me.'

It is now about 72 hours, one plane ride and 4 showers (or so) after that ocean walk and I still sport a lumpy rash on my neck, together with what looks like a couple of blood blisters. Allergic reaction? What's that all about?!

Truly Scrumptious Man Scarf
Unfortunately, the victim gift recipient of the Truly Scrumptious Moss Man Scarf, got away without being photographed. I need my fella to step in and capture a shot of this item in action. (That is, if the subject consents to an image capture process....if so - hint, hint B - can you photograph L in his scarf, somewhere outside for me?!)

Mindless Pink Scarf (Scrumptious)
Opps, I did it again! In my defence, I worked this solely for the reason given in its name. I took two balls of bright bubble gum pink Scrumptious DK with me on the flight to Vancouver and knitted this for me to wear out and about while I was there. Worked Knit-o-matic style, while strapped into an airline seat knitting at about 31,000 feet?

Oh and yes - my 12" 8mm bamboo straights, my 14" 4mm brittney straights and some Denise circular needles all made it on board my flight with me. Thank goodness.

The colour doesn't really suit me but this scarf does complete my little family of Vancouver scarves. It is the same as the previous scarf recipe I used except this one has a moss (seed) stitch border.

It's that bright actually, that I think Army of Knitters may even approve. Sadly, the colour clashes with the hat that Mel and Robynn gave me...

...not that this has stopped me wearing them both together. Must stop that on the basis that one handknit item worn in a city context = chic. Two or more items that do not coordinate = fashion disaster of epic handknit proportions. Discuss.

Hair Update
Tonight was supposed to be my emergency hair appointment to kill the ginger-red-black error streak combo I was given before I went on holiday. However, the hairdresser was off sick. The salon owner was very interested to learn that I was there for a colour correction. I feel bad but I do want my hair colour sorted out. So next appointment, next Thursday with a different colourist. Apparently I will be subjected to colour stripping and a re-dye of the blondes and browns that I originally requested.

Apparently, it could take some time.

It sounds toxic so watch this space - a bald ORK may grace your screens shortly?

The Valentine Time S-t-r-e-t-c-h...

...is a very simple exercise that every person with a Geographically Undesirable (GU) partner should indulge in, every once in a while. The Time S-t-r-e-t-c-h simply increases the romantic window of opportunity around Valentine's Day. It's a bit like having a birthday week. Or month. Or year.

So instead of a measly 24 hours to shower each other with overpriced flowers and fripperies, you stretch the whole thing out for as long as humanly possible. After all, if your other half is GU, the chances are that you will not have seen them for a while before Valentine's Day and you may not be certain when you'll see them afterwards - so why not make the best of it?!

I recommend it as I have just spent the best part of 10 days in the same time zone as my partner, blissfully free of all Skype, ad-hoc phonecalls, text messages and email. It's been wonderful. It is also why my blog has been so quiet over the past two weeks. I've not been home. Nope, I have been in Canada enjoying a Valentine Time S-t-r-e-t-c-h, as follows:

1) Tackling some slopes at Whistler and losing the daily Scrabble tournament with my partner's son.

2) Spending glorious days and evenings in and around Vancouver.

3) Taking time to catch up with both knitting and non knitting friends. This included a sneaky mini-sock knitting lesson from Dotty (just check the size difference between my mini sock and Dotty's hubby sock) and also, a coffee with Rabbitch, who was in the midst of plotting a serious quantity of Revenge, for a very good reason.

4) Stashing. You know, this trip, I did assert that I would not buy any more yarn. There have been mutterings of 'Stash Down' and 'Yarn Diet' under my roof. Do you know what? I did not purchase one single skein of yarn. Not one. Honest. Yep, there is yarn in the photograph above. Ahh, I did not buy any yarn but my fella did. Now how jealous are you feeling right now?!

I picked out 5 skeins to play with and um, he picked out 13 skeins for me to make him and his son something. Here my lovely GU partner models one of the nine skeins of Classy Dream in Colour that he particularly liked and that Dotty helped him to pick out.

I think that the colour goes well with his eyes, so I am happy - the question is: which sweater to knit? Dotty has suggested the Cobblestone Pullover (a great choice) but I would like to offer him a choice of a few patterns, so he feels that he has had input?

5) Romancing and being romanced. Well, you can hardly have a Valentine Time S-t-r-e-t-c-h without it, eh? What? You mean that it is not usual to use raw new potatoes as the basis of a romantic heart candle display...? Pah, so I shouldn't mention the two small skull and crossbones and four Catapaulted Cupids either?! Nor the fact that there is a half made Ikea chair in the background plus the fact that if you have any idea about my sport, there is something in this photo that would make you laugh out loud.

Sadly, my Valentine Time S-t-r-e-t-c-h ended this morning.

I discovered myself back in London after a long night strapped into a seat, next to a surly globe-trotting teenager without the ability to control her airline issue pillow or blanket and without a clear understanding of individual aircraft seat boundaries. Bless her oversized, shaggy airline bed socks, baggy clothing, plethera of magazines, PC, shoes, books, discarded sweets and crisps wrappers. Ugh.

Actually, it feels as though I have spent ten days attached to an overextended length of elastic and have found myself whipped back home involuntarily because I accidentially lost my footing on a wet Vancouver pavement yesterday evening.

During take off, I am usually settled in my seat, happy in the knowledge that I am headed out on a specific jouney or returning to the familiarity and reassurance of home. Last night, as the plane accelerated down the runway in Vancouver, my head conjured up 'Home' and I felt a bit confused - I had to smother this very peculiar, rising feeling that if I was going home, I was headed the wrong direction. Hmm.

So now I face the aftermath of my Valentine Time S-t-r-e-t-c-h:

• jetlag
• unpacking
• catching up at work
• trying not to miss my fella too much.

Something tells me that this could be the trickiest part.

Storm Water Scarf - Two Weeks Later...

...and I have slowly progressed my way through 23 inches of this piece. It looks like I have barely made a dent in the skein. So I am probably only a 1/3rd of the way through?

I have not used Handmaiden Seasilk before and it is beautifully soft and light. Not to forget that the colour is glorious. People on the train keep commenting on how lovely it is.

I must say that I am finding it quite splitty to work with. (I guess that I need sharper lace needles?) Once split, it doesn't seem to go back into shape. I am hoping that this will resolve itself when I block it.

Can anyone let me know what their experience of this yarn is in terms of splitting / getting it back into shape?

The Storm Water (otherwise known as Midwest Moonlight) scarf pattern is very repetitive to work so I was not surprised to read elsewhere that others have struggled to keep up enough energy to complete their projects.

Actually, I am caught between wondering whether I am knitting something that will get lots of wear, as a discreet, regular lace pattern, or whether the overall effect leans perilously close to a rather staid granny look.

Hmm. I am focusing firmly on this being a little wispy something to dress up a work suit during the Spring.

Sharp, not staid, Sharp, not staid!

Now, you might not see much of this scarf (or hear a lot from me) during the course of February as I have my head down on a different project.



I promised to work on my Castle Couture Wrap in February - so I am.

I will keep you updated when I can and also, this project may still accompany me on some train rides when I am at points where I can only work on the wrap at home.

P.S. Hair Update: the hairdresser accepted that the colour at the front of my head was a lot more golden (ginger) than she'd expected.

So she has put toner on it. Actually she put on two. The ginger laughed off the first batch, so she used a second, darker toner over the top. She has told me to pop back into the salon in a few days to see how it's doing and she's offered me a free wash and blow dry.

It's hasn't done much good actually. It sort of looks like ginger that someone has painted, a thin layer of watery dark brown watercolour paint over - I now look like I took a cheap packet of supermarket brown dye to my head and its taken oddly: patchy black, red and sludge. How long with the toner last before the ginger blasts back through at full strength, I wonder? Sigh.

How to solve a bad hair problem...

...with a little help from good friends!

Namely Yogic Knitter and Robynn, who took pity on me yesterday and donated a knit to save my brain (and the eyesight of anyone else looking in my general direction).

Shh, it's a test knit (keep an eye on Robynn's Purlescence website). Now I have only taken this hat off in order to go to bed in the past 24 hours. So do you think that I can show up like this to all my work meetings this week, until I have got 'the light ginger bit' resolved by the salon?!

Luckily, I have recovered my sense of humour - the cut'll grow out. It may even look reasonable in about 6-8 months time. Which is roughly how long it will take me to be driven back through a hairdressers door by split ends and diabolical roots after this latest incident.

I just cannot deal with that little bright orange bit at the front. So I am going to have to tackle the salon tomorrow morning.

Here it is in daylight, glued to my head with hair mousse (which seems to have darkened it down a little), so that the 'half fringe' stays off my face.

Face to face feedback on my colour and cut so far this weekend has included:

'Hmm, it's not too bad.' Polite grown up friends.

'The colour's far too dark - it doesn't suit you.' Fashionable 15 year old daughter of a friend, looking up from tv programme, when asked by her mother what she thought.

'What's Gabrielle done to her hair?!' 12 year old boy, who spotted my blog over his mother's shoulder.

'Oh my god, why is your hair black and what is that orange skunk stripe at the front of your hair?!' Unprompted opinion of honest friend and neighbour. Which she followed with,

'How come's they've chopped half your hair away on one side at the front?! It's all lopsided!'

Well after her first comment, I took my scrunchie out and pulled the cut down around my face for her to see the cut and show her how I was told to style (wear) it over my face.

It took her about 5 minutes to control her laughter.

Mind you, as she is only just recovering from her own self inflicted, home root regrowth kit disaster (apparently, the top of her head went the colour of lemon curd last week, resulting in two trips to two different hair dressers to recover the situation at great cost), I can see why someone elses's hair hiccup may have made her day!

See? Here in London, hair disasters are just rife. A fact of life.

'No big deal at all', she says reaching for her hat (again).

Argghh - what is it with hairdressers?!

Despite my best efforts at communication, I've been scalped by a salon and put through a strange series of dye pots.

I must confess that I really do hate going to the hairdressers - I consider it worse (and far more traumatic) than going to the dentist.

Actually, I like my dentist, old enough to be my father, nose and ear hair and all - he's just one of the loveliest men on earth. Whereas hairdressers? They just ignore me and leave me beached on the desert island of bad cuts and hair colours that do not suit me...

...without any music, knitting or even a book to read.

What sort of makes it worse, is that when I got taken to a proper hairdressers as a child, it was such a treat - a real haircut. I still carry that feeling of excitement and hope with me to the hairdressers each time I go. It is just so cruel when it is dashed against the cruel snip of scissors and rattle of tin foil.

You know me by now right? I am not complicated. I'm casual about my hair - it is scraped back for everyday, then worn down and straightened for social occasions, usually containing a bit of lighter colour to stop the hair on my head resembling a cowpat, like so:



















Very simple - very straightforward. So WHY, especially with my input (gained from years of bitter experience) would a hairdresser go ahead and do this to me?

Black, dark auburn and a few stripes of a very light, vivid red.

I'm not sure whether the atrocity that now adorns my head is just BIG HAIR or bad hair. I guess that I need to put my head in a bucket and then see how (if) it calms down over the weekend?

What I do know is that I have been given a hairstyle that I will never be able to achieve on my own, even if I wanted to. Actually, that is lucky as I-do-not-want-to-look-like-this-again.

I know my own hair - it kinks and frizzes. So I know that it is going to do its very own bad hair thing all on its own, every day - from now until this thing on my head grows out.

The hairdresser used one of those big cylinder brushes. I have to confess that I gulped when I saw that come out (as I prefer my hair flat and straighened) but I thought (as I'd flinched at the colour when the towel came off) that I'd better see what 'her vision' of the overall effect was.

Truth be told, I may even wail a bit tonight. Then, if I cannot shift my woebegone, upset aspect by Monday, then I will have to call the salon and see if they can put the worst bit of it right for me.

The worst bit?

Well, that will be the very light, vivid reddish blonde blob, right at the front of my head - right against my scalp/hairline.

You cannot see it in the first photo because the hairdresser carefully blow dried the darker layer of hair over it.

In terms of the colour, I think that my comment when the towel came off was (in horror), "That bit at the front is very bright light red, isn't it?"

Apart from it just looking very strange, the regrowth is going to look absolutely foul within about 3 weeks?

Now apparently, I should sweep the 'half fringe' I have been given right across my face, particularly if I am going out glam and socialising?

Apparently this light ginger-blonde is supposed to 'show through' the darker over-fringe bit?

I am not convinced. I don't get to be glam and socialise much. Also, this evening, I twice almost walked into oncoming pedestrians and a road sign, walking across Waterloo Bridge because I could not see them through the glamourous half fringe (not kidding) plus...

...who the flippity flip, gives a floppedy, flying duck about blow drying a sodding overfringe at 6am? I defy you to do it - I defy you to care on a work day, let alone on a rare going out occurance.

Me: shower, wash hair, out shower, scrape back hair, apply scrunchie, dress and go.

Ok, this is my hair after I have used straighteners on it, to kill the big hair and see what the cut is really like.

Before you ask:

- yes, I did ask the lady not to give me any short layers. So why do I see short bits and a whole section of hair missing on one side?

I forecast in-home hair styling disaster.

- yes, I did tell the lady that my hair was far too long (down to my bra strap, as a colleague informed me today). In fact, I don't mind the new, overall shoulder length of it but...what the hell did she do to the front?

- yes, I did tell the lady that I wanted a half head of highlights. Yes, we discussed the fact that the colour on my head was not great, being 50% bleach and 50% tomato sauce stripes with a good 3" or so of roots and yes, I agreed that a semi permanent to tone down the sections of hair in between the foils might be a good idea to make the contrast between the bleach-3" roots look less obvious. The hairdesser described the colours that she was going to apply, as warmer. I thought that would be okay, thinking golds and light browns, as bleach is too stark on my hair. Um, so where did I sign up for black, dark auburn and bright, vivid, light red...?!

Am I alone here? Does anyone else struggle with making themselves understood to hairdressers?

They seem to ignore me (with a canny instinct of knowing that I am too embarassed to make a fuss before leaving the shop) or they think that they know better, what is better for me.

Despite the fact that I have lived with this particular head, and its diabolical hair disasters, for 37 years.

I just hope that my fella will still think me pretty on Valentines Day, despite looking like a hair model fashion victim....sigh.

Edited to add: what is considered a decent brand of hair straighteners in Canada?! My UK ones don't work as they require all 220 volts to operate (I have discovered).