Dear readers, I’ve just committed adultery…
Relax, it’s not what it sounds like. But I feel nearly as guilty.
Regular readers might have noticed I’ve re-located recently. We’ve quickly settled into our temporary home. It’s cosy, in a really friendly village and, most importantly, has a pub within stumbling distance.
Changing addresses on all things official, sorting out phone lines and broadband are all done and I’ve nearly completed the task of registering for a new GP. It takes a while to find replacements for all the services you need. The dogs were a priority, of course. There is an established pecking order in this household and the humans are definitely at the bottom. A new vet and dog groomer had to be found first.
However, while it was one thing to find a new GP’s surgery, vet and dentist, it was quite another to replace my hairdresser.
I’ve been going to my hairdresser in the midlands for nearly twenty years. In that time she became far more than someone who simply cut my hair (at which she was brilliant) she became a friend. In the hour or so in front of the mirror, we talked about all sorts of things. Dogs, cars, town gossip, the foibles of our respective men folk. Maybe it was the Elnett fumes that encouraged confidences. Or maybe it was because we were of a similar-ish age. Whatever the reason, no subject matter was considered out of bounds.
Occasionally, as it was a friendly sort of a salon, other clients would join in. Dogs and the silly things we did to spoil them cropped up a lot. Who was having an affair with whom. Who was tempted to have an affair! What new shops were about to open – or close. And then there was the discussion about how much we loved cheese … Oh and diets. The last two topics being possibly connected.
I remember having a heated conversation about writing with someone who wanted to write “real books, not those self-published ones.” The same person also proclaimed she’d never be able to work with an editor as they wouldn’t be able to improve her work. I often wonder how she’s got on.
And once, the quietly spoken lady to our right suddenly blurted out that her husband had just left her for another man. We all needed an awful lot of tea on that particular afternoon.
If I ever went in feeling a bit low, I always came out much happier. And not just because I had a gleaming new haircut. I’d had a couple of hours of exceptionally good company. Female solidarity against the travails of everyday life.
So, when it dawned on me that it was going to be impractical to drive three hours for a cut and blow dry, I searched around for a new hairdresser. I settled on one whose name had cropped up several times and who was recommended by a lovely dachshund-owning woman I got talking to in the pub.
I was quite nervous as I drove to meet my new hairdresser. After all, I was about to commit hair infidelity. I really needn’t have worried as she was lovely – and what’s more, understood how I was feeling. I got a fantastic haircut too.
But boy, did I feel guilty! So, come on, ‘fess up, have you ever played fast and loose? With your hairdresser, that is!
Love, Georgia x