Not such a hair-brained idea

You know when you have an upcoming thing that you’ve booked in to do, and then suddenly that thing is all you can see around you? Well that. That’s been going on. I’ve had something buzzing on my mind recently, or perhaps more accurately, on my head. Let me explain…

I’ve been thinking a lot about hair this week. Yes. Hair. That swishy, glossy, flip about seductively (ha! I wish!) accessory, that many women aspire to acquire at least once in her life. But why have I been thinking about this? Well partially by the fact I’ve been to the hairdressers recently, and partly because I’ve somehow stumbled across quite a lot of hairy stories. It’s funny isn’t it? It’s like you see one spider dashing for the safety of under your sofa, then you see spiders everywhere, with their skittery hairy (see, there I go again) legs akimbo, suddenly TAKING OVER YOUR LIFE! Well, this is just like that... with hair. But I digress.

Yep.That's a look!

So yes, my hair, I've had it on my mind becuse there's nothing quite like a good hairdo. It gives you a confidence, and if even only a mild fringe trim, it can transform you. I'll be honest, I may not be the swishiest in town, but I love a good hairdo. Now I must raise a conflict of interests here, I love my hairdresser, which frankly considering some of the butchers I've experienced in the past, is a bleedin miracle. But not my current hairdresser. She’s aces! She brings a smile to my face whenever I see her, probably less so that I bring one to hers when she sees the bedraggled, 'shoulda been to see her 3 months earlier’ mop that is usually adorning my bonce. You see, I’m not a regular visitor, not as much as I should be, and it usually takes a prodding from my mother, and a double check of my bank balance before I am persuaded into that chair. Which is ridiculous, because who doesn’t like the fuss, the pamper, and frankly don’t even get me started on the free wine and massage chair. Ooh, I could be there for HOURS. And, unfortunately for the state of my roots, infrequently I am. I love the hairdressers, I love our conspiratorial type discussions about what I want doing & what’s been going on in our lives, let alone positively adoring that swishy ‘just stepped outta the salon’ boost you get when you leave. And let alone that transformation!

And hair is transformative. Don’t let anyone else tell you any different, a new hairdo has the power to make you feel different, not only about yourself, but also about your life. I mentioned I am seeing hair everywhere and only this week did I hear about the Canadian ‘superhero’ doling out free haircuts on the streets of Toronto. Donning a mask, cape and tight spandex outfit (trust me, it’s a LOOK), Matthew Gesner regularly takes to the streets of Kensington Market, giving out free haircuts to the homeless in order to make a bit of difference in an otherwise pretty crappy life. What an amazing idea! But wait! He’s not alone in this phenomenon, last month the Metro reported the story of Nasir Sobhani, aka The Streets Barber (catch up with his exploits on Instagram), who similarly to his Torontonian comrade in follicles, spends his weekly day off on the streets of Melbourne, haircutting the homeless & making a difference.  Having come from a place of addiction himself, he recognizes in his client that sense of not being able to look at oneself in the mirror, and a new haircut can change all of that, saying “You already have a new-found confidence when you get a haircut, and now imagine what it’s like for someone who’s really been in a bad place in their life.” Well, quite. And what wonderful men these are to be providing transformations to those in life who perhaps feel the need for it most.

Wow,  you only have to see his face to see the transformation
(c) thestreetsbarber

So while my life is not in a really bad place, and while my new do may not be quite on the same level, there is no doubt that now my ends have been trimmed, and my, sadly grey, roots duly covered up (but only 40% grey according to my hairdresser – yay! *sighs*), I am feeling like a new woman. Now to find one me of them massage chairs, with precisely ZERO room for spiders underneath.

Ten years on....

So I may not have written in a while, but as today is one of those days of thought and reflection, it seems as good as day as any to share my thoughts with the world. 

Ten years ago today was like every other day, yet another day on the trusty steed that is the 73 bus, taking my usual humdrum commute to work. There had been talk of a potential terrorist attack on the London transport system in the news in previous months, talk had been going on for years in fact, and especially so since the Madrid bombings of the previous year. But this is London, there is ALWAYS talk of terrorist attacks. There has been ever since I was a kid, IRA bomb scares were the norm rather than the exception, so I was well used to living with threat. Even so, I clearly remember one day in 2004, a Metro newspaper blaring the headline that an attack on the underground was 'expected and imminent’. It was in that moment that I was convinced of the need to move somewhere where I could catch buses on my daily commute instead of tubes, and was I ever grateful because on this day, 10 years ago, that headline was came true.

As we all know, on that momentous day, 4 men set off to put fear in our hearts, while simultaneously ripping the hearts out of the lives of 52 sets of family and friends. And yes, they did scare us, but not forever. We would get back on our tubes again, we would ride our buses back and forth to work, to our friends, to our family, because what they instilled in us was courage, not fear.

These 4 men tried to divide us, setting us against our neighbours, our fellow commuters. But when I walked home that day from central London, walking along with thousands of others, all I saw was unity, not division. The unity of strangers helping strangers navigate their way through crowded streets thronged with office refugees outside of their usual 9-5 existence. The unity of pub landlords and customers, barmen defying stereotypes by handing out free drinks to all and sundry on a scorching summer’s day, the sun all bold and beautiful in the blue sky contradicting the shockingly dark turn of the day. The unity of my friends, coming together unasked for, drifting in their dribs and drabs to our collective home from home, our local pub beer garden. That unity was not what they set out to achieve. 

I think perhaps what those 4 heartless men did not consider is this is London, and no one gets to do that to London. This is the London that has been relentlessly multicultural since way back when, since beyond that year, beyond that decade, heck even beyond the last century and so many before that. This is the London that has fallen prey to terrorists before, but it has never fallen victim, and ten years on, I know this to be true. I knew it to be true as I looked into the faces of my fellow passengers on the way into work this morning, and I’ll know it to be true as I travel into work tomorrow morning, and every morning thereafter. We may be wary but we’re not weary, unnerved perhaps but undeterred, we are not divided nor are we conquered. That's because we are Londoners, made up of people from every corner of the globe and while we remain Londoners, blitz spirit & all, we will not let them win.