Just got back from the hairdressers and all the better for it – it has been a well iffy year work wise and a trip to the hairdressers is one of my 'last to go' staples (no really; make-up, clothes all can take a back seat – but my hair makes me feel good –it is very fine and I am ‘of a certain age’ where it does not recognise the fact it should apparently be in its prime) so for me to have a cut and colour is my very very best treat to beat.
It had been ..er... summer last time I could afford to go, so as soon as things started to pick up a couple of weeks ago – apart from the relief of being able to pay bills my hair was numero uno. Booking late they could only do mid week after Christmas – so off I trotted for what seemed like a rare and really appreciated treat.
I was on time, but there is always a bit of give and take on that one not least on my part. So while waiting for Neville (really sweet guy from Malta - ahhh these hairdressers and their names) to finish colouring the woman nearest me – I couldn’t help overhearing (I was not earwigging!) as her friend who was sitting with her explained what sounded like her horrific nuptial mess that was ending in divorce – I will add a few bits but basically it wasn’t so much about the ‘personal’ details which she was quite happy to share – but more about her take on this; he had married her and then after weeks of trying not to be seen in public with her, told her he was bisexual and wanted out. So enough on that but there was something about the delivery of all this information, I was struck by her apparent ease in talking about it (not the gay thing if that was what he was saying) but the ease in talking so ‘openly’ about such a traumatic event. Then the conversation turned to the fact her Chanel bag was being reproduced by a chainstore in practically the same detail, and the fact she had also spent £500 on Agent Provocateur undies and Jimmy Choo’s for no avail. And so the conversation veered from her ex to Dubai shopping, London shopping and trips to Claridges and on to how she had moved out and started renting a flat in London and out of all the areas in London he chose to rent on the same road – with his gay friends. Well enough detail already.
Then my turn came!... complete with special extra tricky bit of colour on one section of hair. The woman and her nuptial-less friend were moved next to me, and she said ‘ohh there is nowhere for me to sit’ – nope that’s right the chairs were taken either side. Now I hadn’t been out over Christmas so I did wonder whether I had become a bit ‘sensitive to my personal space’ ie; having the settee to myself for too long because when she stood by my chair and carried on with her increasingly fascinating and baffling conversation I felt a teeny bit crowded. Then I noticed Neville having a bit of difficulty reaching round to that tricky bit of colouring – he got an assistant over and started making those hair-dressy gestures like standing back to make space – but she didn’t notice – she even looked over ‘us’ and started commenting on the weather outside. I decided I was probably jealous of her ability and ease to buy agent provocateur and stuff, and put my observation down to that and her apparently admirably balanced approach in dealing with romantic trauma with such mater-of-factness, no wonder my nerves and confidence had been worn away over the years – I was too sensitive.
Then the two were moved back to original chair whereupon miss nuptial brought out an M&S snack thingy – one of those with mini cakes and lots of tiny treats which they started to nibble on while she answered calls from her sister in London (none of us could have ignored it – she even had her phone on so you could here the other person speak) who was informing her that ‘he’ had taken ‘it’ (whatever that was) to court – it was then that I really couldn’t believe her ease of reaction to what she was hearing and instructing her sister in what she should do – ‘yes you phone the court you know the right questions to ask’. Hats off I thought, if that was me I would be having kittens – with a) court usually meaning costing seriously-ouch-money and b) just the fact ’court’ urgggghhh!. But something seemed surreal like it was a script from a play – only played by some sort of emotionally detached method actor.
Miss nuptial was then separated from her friend as she started to have her hair coloured. Neville flitted between clients and then moved her to the heat lamp – he noticed she had left her bag and picked it up and took it to her chair, then he noticed the remains of the mini snack fest and asked her if she wanted them – she replied ‘no I’ve finished’ – and Neville cleared the remaining cakes and crumbs away asking if it was ok to throw all of it –‘yes’ she said – nothing more nothing less. It was then I thought I had definitely stayed in too long over Christmas and should trust my instincts more. Really! Some people!.