Nothing to do with Charlize Theron or Bob Dylan.

Location: Norwich, United Kingdom

Keep on Truckin'.

Saturday, March 04, 2006

Sea Bass

Having spent a week convalescing c/o Mother, I'm feeling more plucky, quicker on my toes (and probably lighter too, having dropped a stone in that most enjoyable of weeks), with a little left-over bass in my voice, and more ready to admit that I sort of, kind of, have a crush on Boris Johnson. Yes, even though he is pro-nuke. It must be the hair. That's it, it's the hair.

Speaking of which, I finally had my bush cropped this week. Some of you may recall the multiple disasters that have befallen me in the hands of my hairdresser, Kylie (yes, Kylie), over the past year. Her powers of photo-interpretation are, quite frankly, staggering, and there have been many many times when I have exited the grandiose supermarket salon trying to not to weep in Debenhams' toilets because I look like I slipped Edward Scissorhands a fiver to give me a short back and sides. As well as the disastrous 'pixie-crop' of 2004, Kylie is also responsible for the heinous banana (I said, 'Ashy', woman!) hair I sported for roughly 5 weeks last March

And yet I rebook, because she actually enjoys talking about Harry Potter and Heath Ledger.

Me: 'I'm growing it out at the moment'. (She looks distracted). 'OK? I don't want you to chop my fringe or anything, just a little trim at the end and my roots. Mainly, just the roots'.
K: 'So, I'm just going to nibble at the ends then, OK? And chop into this fringe as well'.
Me: (Worried) 'OK, but not too much, cause I'm growing it out and at the moment it's just getting in my eyes. And also, the back's getting a little Kevin Keegan, and it just needs a teeny snip'.
K: (Seemingly not convinced) '.............OK'.

Two hours later I look like a lightbulb. A literal lightbulb. My fringe barely reaches halfway down my honestly gigantic Harris-forehead and the longest glossiest strands of hair I've been carefully cultivating since last summer lie sadly on the tiles and are promptly swept away by a minion with a very dirty-looking broom.

Must not weep in Debenhams. Must not weep in Debenhams.


Anonymous Monkey said...

Monkey here! You may remember me from Jo's little party before she left us all. If you cant remember back that far, uh tough!

Jo made me read your blog and I thank her for it. Your far funnier ;)

On a side note, im sorry to hear of your hair woes. I also have way too much and am not entirely sure what to do with it..


2:56 PM  
Anonymous Roo said...


I'm sure George can find somewhere to accomodate your ample... hair!

3:17 PM  
Blogger Kirsti said...

I am looking for a good hairdresser too. Let's go hunting together.

4:43 PM  
Blogger Georgina said...

Oh you kids. Monkey: I remember beard, and kites. And a little more beard.

Yes, I am far funnier.

Kylie has a cancellation and can fit you in Wednesday at 4pm, as long as you don't mind leaving with wet, er, beard, because she's got to pick up her sproglet from school that day and doesn't have time for a blow-dry.

Roo: You're ALMOST as bad as your missus. B+, must try harder.

Kirsti: New Blog idea: We'll both shop around for new hairdressers and compare notes online. We're sure to get a Bloggie someday because we'll have both suffered for our art (probably having stripey hair in a badger/skunk fashion with all the children of the world laughing and pointing at us).

5:17 PM  
Anonymous Jo said...

Hey! What's this 'Jo's not funny' club going on here?! Traitors!

1:32 PM  
Anonymous Jo said...

p.s my blog has now moved to

1:33 PM  
Blogger Georgina said...

Jo, RE:

I saw you more as (selling for $250, what a snip!)

Kidding! X

4:25 PM  

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