The hair, the hair!

So this week was a resounding success in its affirmation of the idea that one week really is manageable and things can be achieved! Not since the age of 5 when I had the hair of a princess down almost to my toes, or so it seemed at the time, have I worn my curls out and proud for more than a sheepish couple of hours. The return of holiday photographs in which I've let myself go with the relaxed, beach vibes and worn my hair loose always results in renewed vows to keep my hair to itself; tied back, each strand in close proximity to its headmates. Numerous hairdresser trips have resulted in tears; the most memorable requiring no less than three members of the salon team to attend to the brushing of my mop, and this is only in preparation for the haircut itself. Before sounding devastatingly insecure or as though my hair resembles something truly monstrous and unprecedented in the world of bad hair, I will stop. (In fact, neither of these statements really go to the core of the hair issues and I have no desire to delve into what has caused this rather insane state of affairs.)

What really needs to be said at this point, rather than dwelling on the past, is that things have really rather improved. Friends have commented on the new location of my hair rather nervously,fearing a return to the tumult of hair-abuse they are accustomed to, but they need not have feared.

One week, one life-changing experience (as much as hair can be described as this...)