As long as... my hair?

Yesterday I went for an overdue haircut. When I told my elder son I was going to try a new hair salon he remarked, 'That's brave!' The thing is, after the splurginess of Christmas, January and February bring frugality, and that was my motivation.

It's been a very long time since I walked out of a salon thrilled with my hair. Certainly I loved emerging from Vidal Sassoon in Bond Street when the master-cutter himself was there, although I hated the two hours it took to get my hair done. But in general I think most of us are dissatisfied with our hair. Often, that's putting it mildly!

Why is this, I wonder? It surely can't be a throw back to Biblical times and the story of Samson? These days I don't believe our strength and life-force lives in our hair. And yet, many of us are obsessed. And I say that with some consideration, because I've been thinking about different cultures. Take the Rastas for e.g.

How was it? you ask anxiously. I'd say, the jury's still out. I'll be able to judge better once I've washed my hair myself. It was a mistake to allow ze hair glue to be sprayed around me as if I were a mosquito. I never use that as a rule, preferring to feel softness rather than straw. So we'll see.

Oh, and just so you know, my husband's barber is called.... wait for it... Delilah!!