which was a bit red is now a lot brown. DARK brown. SO dark brown that when I got home last night and walked in the kitchen my daughter shrieked 'Your hair is black!' I am hoping that was on account of the two light bulbs out of the four which have blown in the kitchen and not because my hair is in fact black. Not that there is anything worng (as opposed to with my typing) with black hair on a person who would suit black hair but I am not too sure that I could get away with black hair now my punk rocker days are behind me (by approximately a life time).
It is so different I scared myself when I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror ths morning (OK- not for the first time, but this fright was of the 'Who the Fuck is She?' variety rather than the 'Oh my god, I look bloody awful in the morning' type of fright which is pretty much a daily type fright).
Going to work with a different look is a strange experience. You feel hopelessly self - conscious. Other people react in diverse ways. Some colleagues will not notice full stop. They can spend many hours a day in your company and be perfectly unable to tell that anything different has occured whatsoever. Then you get the ones who know 'something' is different but take till about 2.30 in the afternoon to gently enquire 'Have you done something to your hair?' followed by 'I knew there was something different about you!' There is always one who will note correctly that you have done 'something' to your hair, and then decline to make any another comment at all so as to leave you convinced you look simply awful. And then thankfully there are the nice and observant ones to whom I am today extremely grateful.
By mentioning all this in some detail I hope that Reidski will be sufficently alerted to the fact that I have done 'something' to my hair and to at least pretend to like it.
Consideration - Should a poem need explanation? Perhaps we really do "murder to dissect". After all, a poem isn't an extract from a washing machine manual. It isn't a fina...
20 hours ago