Oh dear, please don't look at my hair too closely. Or, at least, not until it's had a chance to recover and grow a little. In fact, I think I need to sip a restorative cup of coffee as I write to you!
In case you haven't guessed, I have just returned from a visit to the hairdresser. Normally, these are occasions that I thoroughly enjoy. The Polish girl who regularly trims my hair is charming and intelligent. Not only is she skilful in her attention to my hair, but I also enjoy hearing of her other activities. She is quiet, and attractive, unassuming and diligent.
Preliminaries over (how much needed trimming . . . did I require the same shaping as before?) I sat back to let her efficient fingers take over.
"Did you and your husband enjoy your holiday in South America?" I asked.
She assured me that, apart from a slight problem with sunburn, they had had an excellent holiday.
"And what about Poland?" I continued innocently, "have you any plans to visit Poland?"
To my surprise, my hairdresser's normally pale face became flushed with animation.
"I do NOT want to go!" she exclaimed, "My husband . . . he has a cousin who
is marrying next week . . . he insists, we HAVE to go!"A little startled, I shifted in my chair.
"But what's so wrong about going to Poland for a wedding?"
This proved to be a question I'd regret!
For the next ten, turbulent minutes I was subjected to an outpouring of emotion as to the total undesirability of attending a traditional Polish wedding!
I gathered that the festivities lasted for two days . . . that the guests were forced to play games,
stupid games . . . that you were expected to be traditionally-dressed, over-dressed . . . that the preliminaries and subsequent celebrations were over-long and exhausting . . . if there was a good word to be said for a traditional Polish wedding, my hairdresser had clearly never heard of it!Throughout this outburst her hands were flying in all directions, transported by the strength of her emotions. This would not have been so bad had not one hand been carrying a very sharp pair of scissors, whilst the other grasped very vulnerable strands of my hair! There was no doubt that, although professionalism governed the majority of her actions, my hair was also subjected to her anger!
Worried, I watched the flashing scissors.
"Er . . . in two weeks' time it will all be over," I said soothingly, "You'll be back and it will all be forgotten."
The scissors careered dangerously close to my left ear.
"I will not wear those stupid clothes!" declared my hairdresser emphatically, "I will wear just a smart shirt and a skirt . . . nothing more! It is so ridiculous!"
I tried to put the event into context.
"But from a cultural point of view," I said, "a traditional wedding must be rather interesting. How far back does this tradition go?"
It was no use. My hairdresser was now energetically drying my hair with the hair-dryer, despite having forgotten to spray it with water in advance!
"How does it look . . .?" she demanded, "You happy . . .?"
I assured her that she had made a perfect job. I could have added that she had done so in record time, but this didn't seem wise!
The next time I go to have my hair trimmed I don't think I'll even enquire about that Polish wedding!
Best stick to the weather . . . English weather!
