91热爆

Off out tonight to bookclub. I've got some bottles of organic beer so I won't be joining the wine tasting. As soon as I've done this I'm over to Dr Amazon to get some recommendations for the next book. I had a feeling something ought to have happened between my last blog (about bookclub) and this blog (strangely also about bookclub) and then I remembered. The Coll Hotel Christmas staff party.
Which normally is full of fuzzy black holes of missing memories. But not this year, I remember everything until we left, which was a tad earlier than I wanted so I still don't remember the best bits, including what the other kilt wearer has under his kilt! Of course, the whole point of a staff party is the bonding, the teambuilding, so it was necessary to imbibe a little alcohol at lunch (a long lunch with 4 bottles from Mr Pelletier (a Coll Hotel favourite) and a long vodka, which I don't drink and made me realise it was long after time to go (and was probably why I had to leave before I was ready later)).
I have been jokingly threatening to dye my hair red to go to the party for several years, so because he was away and coming back on Saturday I asked him to get some hair dye. Black. I chickened out. Or I was being realistic, he didn't like the looks he was getting from the women in the hair dye aisle at Asda. But he bought it. I read the instructions. Several times. Always a good idea after alcohol. I should have done an allergy test two days earlier so I skipped that bit. Eventually I was sure it was OK to put the plastic gloves on and mix bottle 1 with bottle 2. It doesn't smell too good at this stage. 'Apply to the hair with the applicator, do not rub into the scalp.' Tricky this. I used a circular motion. 'You should do it in front of the mirror, and take your glasses off' he said. Excellent advice, but no glasses means no vision. The reason I don't swim is because glasses don't work in the wet and I get lost. It's not funny looking for changing rooms! I went into the bathroom and did some more circular motions. He watched with that agitated way people get when you are trying to undo a knot and they are sure they could do it faster. 'Give it to me' he said, taking the applicator. I don't think it is possible to dye hair on your own, very occasionally help is needed (I find that rather hard to admit to). He used his comb to work through in a very systematic way across my scalp, occasionally remarking how black my head was, and did it matter. Then I had to wait 25 to 45 minutes, depending on the strand test (I had skipped the strand test, not enough time), but since putting this smelly black goo on had taken 25 minutes and we didn't have much time left it was into the shower to wash it off. It took nearly as much time washing it off as putting it on, but at least I could do that on my own. Upstairs for the glad rags, downstairs for the hairdryer, and then a quick look in the mirror. Strangely familiar in a 'long time ago' way.
And the funny thing was, I looked so different if I didn't make eye contact nobody realised it was me. I walked through the bar and no-one said anything. A fellow Pipers drinking partygoer was so surprised to see my legs he didn't notice until after midnight! Depressingly the most common comment was 'It takes years off you'. The second was 'The colour really suits you'. Now that isn't surprising, it is almost my natural colour, before some weird gene introduced this unnatural but very distinguished greyness. But am I going to faff around touching up roots every few weeks, or settle for looking old. Vote now!