Dreaming in Brighton

Hairy situations

(Post late night hair ordeal)

1am hair cuts with blunt scissors. Cries of objection from my more sensible counterparts. The consideration that as the ageing process continues there isn't much time left for bad hair decisions. From the highly questionable triangle haircut I sported during my early teenage years, to the later shaved head that resembled less Natalie Portman and more a newly born lamb, and the final unspeakable bleaching incident that left me closer to a Simpson than I care to admit - my hairs been through the wars. At my own hands I have chopped and singed the life out of my locks, possibly in the hope that those ever unruly curls will have less of a mind of their own. I'm now sat in another late night/early morning position of staring at the kitchen scissors in deliberation. A recent post by my favourite blogger, discotheque confusion, considered the joys of a free home haircut. My current wonky fringe would suggest a lower success rate. How much longer will I feel comfortable with that fateful snip snip snip and consequential sporting of a dodgy head of hair for the following weeks? Then, I still manage to find a small sense of liberation in separating myself from the inanimate signifier of femininity that flows from my scalp. Even looking like a baby lamb for a year was made all the sweeter by the breeze on my head - far superior to any non-helmeted bike ride. Not so enjoyable were the cold ears and absent minded attempts to fiddle with my tresses out of boredom or awkwardness. After all I suppose it is nice to have something to hide behind if the moment demands it.