Hair Today

So it’s official. I look like Queen Elizabeth II. I foolishly decided to “engage” with the hairdresser when I got there yesterday afternoon, rather than just sit quietly with my copy of Viz as normal. Big mistake. I happened to mention that I found it hard to stop my hair from falling forwards into a page boy style fringe, and so Rita (my stylist) insisted that I have something called a Techni-Wave. She absolutely guaranteed me that I need not be concerned about my masculinity as she deftly rolled large curlers into my hair, before applying a solution that smelled rather like mosquito repellent and sticking me under a large hairdryer for an hour. I should have had my suspicions when I caught her son smirking at me through the window while he puffed on a B&H. Half an hour later I was looking in the mirror and our elderly monarch appeared to be staring back, dumbstruck. I’m not sure if you can sue hairdressers but I’m definitely going to look into it. Even Rita looked concerned for my safety as I skulked out onto Bromley High Street, £25 poorer.

I belted home quicker than a rat up a drainpipe and ran upstairs to the shower. Contrary to Rita’s advice I stood under a stream of hot water and desperately tried to pull my new curls straight. Essentially I seem to have ended up with the sort of tight perm my mother would die for and I don’t think I’m going to be able to go out in public for approximately 3 months. Of course the logistics of this exile are rather unworkable and it is somewhat more likely that I shall return to school on Sunday night and be beaten with sticks like a Jew at a Nazi rally. This morning things don’t seem to have improved much so I have just applied half a can of Mother's firm hold mousse and am hoping for the best. Thank God I wasn’t invited to Abby MacKenzie’s party. Must call Ralph and find out how it went..