379. Chop chop

 So on Boxing Day I'm the first one up in the house. I get to brew the tea and the coffee but I decline making any more pastries because I am off to the hair salon. (The girls tell me you do not say hair dresser any longer, I still say it as not going to do as my daughters tell me, but I'm not going to write it). 

'I'm off!' I shout to a sleepy house that will not be woken up by aromas of coffee.

And so I venture in the cold, windy and grey streets, shivering and thinking I should have bought the coat I tried on yesterday when My husband and I went for a day out shopping in the big city. I still cannot believe he agreed to that. I cannot remember the last time we did that.

'Must have been when the kids were is pushchairs or with nannies.'

'I think it might have been before kids.'

'Maybe the kids are the problem then and not you.'

I must admit it is good to be free. No 'I'm hungry' no 'I'm thirsty' no 'can I have have this?' no 'he's just pushed me' or worse being embarrassed by a kid rummaging through a bin (see Yellow Crocs post).

It is not a long walk and then I get (for a hefty price) a cup of coffee, a warm bright room with soft music playing, a head massage (which I hate but never have the heart to tell them) and a good gossip (a lot of teachers go there, the previous head went there and I learned all about his love life). So I shiver on up the definitely uninviting narrow street. On the square the Christmas lights cannot even shine properly on such a grey background. Not dull enough. 

Going out early into the cold and getting my long hair chopped off resulted in me feeling feverish and shiverish all day. But I got a great hair cut which has transformed me from laid-back hippy mum burning incense sticks and baking sourdough bread all day into a respectable middle-aged lady who means business. 

Baby better watch out now!