Hair Today Gone Tomorrow

The Bus or ‘Passion Palace,’ as the Husband has tastefully named it, now includes mod cons like cream and ‘Royal Red’ carpeting and a bed. The bed has been installed above the old dashboard lying across the front of the bus. Panoramic windows frame the bed looking out onto the glen with spring lambs larking about, all very pastoral.

In the spirit of Scottish Spring time it has been a cold and drizzly (dreich as the Scots like to say). Keeping our little tin wood burner going is like raising a child; it requires constant attention. We are also becoming a spot ‘ripe’, as we have not fully plumbed and electrified our new home; the Husband and I have cleanliness levels akin to those of the Dark Ages (it is less Passion Palace more Pong Palace round here). I am also beginning to understand why hippies wear headscarves as they hide a multitude of sins. Just this morning I embraced one to cover my 4-day old unwashed hair. I spent the early hours of the morning staring at our veneered ceiling picturing myself with a chic elfin hairdo, in the spirit of Holly Golightly. Of course when I raised it with the Husband he suggested I go and live in another bus with my ‘boy hair’.

This prompted me to think of an elaborate plot to sabotage my hair in order to facilitate the chop. I was reminded of the following true story:

At University my dear friend Kiki was particularly vain about her swishy blonde ponytail. She brushed it 100 times before bed and took vitamins to help it grow thicker, faster and more bountiful. It really was golden and lovely.

One night I was standing behind Kiki in the queue for Friar Tuck’s nightclub chewing a piece of gum and attempting to singularise my vision. For reasons quite unbeknownst to me, I was compelled to bite Kiki’s dangly ponytail. As I released said tail from the bite, my globule of cinnamon gum remained behind, steadfast at the end of a golden spiral of hair. Feeling the tug, Kiki spun round and I smiled back beatifically and silent as I immediately decided that a confession would put the Kibosh on the whole evening. And so Kiki remained oblivious of the gum in her hair and we had a cracking night. She shook her locks all round the club, even doing the ‘stripper hair flick’ and the pink gum blob stayed fast and incognito.

The next morning Kiki rushed into my room shrieking maniacally. She had discovered GUM in her HAIR. “What unfeeling demon” she wanted to know, “would do this to somebody?” To my shame I kept quiet and tut-tutted along with her ranting. After an unsuccessful attempt at icing and pulling at the gum, Kiki was forced to lose some of her precious hair. It was all rather dramatic; a sad love song playing on the radio as Kiki wept with every snip-snip of the scissors.

I confessed a few days later and in the spirit of true friendship I was forgiven. About a week after the gum incident, we went for Pizza. It was a nice little place with little romantic tea-lights on the tables. Kiki dropped something on the floor and bent over to pick it up. As she did so her hair dangled directly in the open flame and immediately started sizzling. Kiki was so absorbed in her search for the mystery item on the floor that she did not notice her burning follicles. Here was my opportunity to save my friend from further hair disfigurement and mental anguish and what happened? I was rendered utterly speechless:

Me: A-ba,ba-ba-baa-bahh-bahh! [High pitched incomprehensible gibber and pointing at burning bushel of hair]
Kiki: [Still rummaging on floor] What is wrong with you? Did you drink that Vodka again? And what is that smell?
Me: A-ba-baa-ba-baa-be-be-ba [Too shocked to form a sentence, still gesticulating wildly]
Kiki: What? [Still rummaging] God it’s hot in here. What is that smell?
Me: Ba-baa-baba-ba-bah [Still completely unable to string syllables together in sentence format]
Kiki: [Finally sits up from rummaging] Oh, my God, my HAIR’S ON FIRE! WHY DID’NT YOU TELL ME?

Thankfully majority of the burn was absorbed by Kiki’s hair clip. When I eventually recovered my voice I laughed so hard I even dribbled a little. The moral of the story don't be too precious about things they can be hair today and gone tomorrow. [No? Not even a titter?]

Well, anyway I’m just off to light the wood burner with my greasy locks hanging freely over and open flame…