When I plait my hair one side will always be thicker- I'm a great in the moment planner, I can decide on what I will do right at this very moment, but there will be times, like Plaitgate 2012 when it doesn't work out great.
The left side went off smoothly- can't complain, it's a respectable piece of hair manoeuvring that got me to nod in the mirror. but the right, much like when I paint my nails and get tired by the time I reach the thumb- that has let me down.
At the moment I am one eye down- tragic eye patch and eye drops as far as the....uh.... eye can see. That means all hair styling moments should be be perceived as an attempt and now as a successful endeavour. Which leads me to my story.
Well, not really a story, more of a thought that leaks onto the blog because there is nothing good on television and strangers who aren't in my living room should learn about my habits when I am alone.
I love washing my hair- it's one of my favourite things to do, while I wash, rinse and repeat I often get ideas, thoughts and stories- they just appear, like my shampoo is more form of magical gel that I massage into my scalp and by osmosis gets to my brain, when I rinse, only the really good ideas stay put (steady now....), or at least the things I want to write about.
The water rushes down my face like tears and I happily plan how I will proceed with my idea, save my damsel or kill off that character that has had it coming.
Then when shower time is over, I wrap my hair up on top of my head and leave in a towel for as long as I can. I try not to have my hair up too often, I didn't think it was possible, but I have the ugliest neck.... however, that is for another post.
I will then write down the shower ideas, and that's when I take the care that the Olympic Athletes who work for Head & Shoulders seem to love to tell us about.
I comb through the wet strands, making sure there is no knots to get in the way of my hair dryer.
There will always be a knot, at the back, and I will have to spend at least two Beatles songs and numerous colourful swear words to get it out.
Once that is down and it's all straightly combed, like a dark sheet surrounding my face, I shake it up through my fingers and complain in my head about adopting the thick hair my father's side of the family have often commented on rather proudly at family gatherings.
Once I have my hair dryer plugged in, I blast it through the mass of tendrels that have already gone from wet to damp, while I do this I try to think over my shower ideas and make sure that I actually like them, if something sticks, I will go over that in more detail and then when my hair is dry, or my hand hurts from holding the weight of the dryer I stop, drop the appliance into it's corner and start to write.
This all sounds lovely and calm, and it happens at least twice a week. But the other days- it's 7am, I have to be out the door in five minutes and I am lucky if I have rinsed out the conditioner.
Or taken the towel off my head.
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