I remember every year around this time I would ask my mother when ‘Easter Day’ was and when would I get my Easter eggs; it always confused me how you could possibly have 4 days of Easter.
I had my hair cut this week. I know right, not exactly headline news, but for me it’s quite a major event, mostly because it’a a major inconvenience. When I worked in London BC (before-children), it was all part of life’s rich pattern; I thought nothing of jumping on the train on a Saturday and popping into the salon that was in Covent Garden.
PC (post-children) and back in full-time work, I go to a relatively local salon. When I get there, there’s no preamble, it’s straight into a rapid but firm scrub, some frantic snipping and if I’m lucky, not too many hairs yanked out as it’s blow-dried and I always walk out of the salon with plenty of hair cuttings stuck to my face.