Mad five minutes

Boredom is a truly dangerous commodity. Yesterday afternoon I had a sudden hankering to cut my hair. I have quite long hair, so googled a couple of things and had a go. I then discovered that I had taken absolutely nothing off the length (intended outcome) and have in fact given myself a slightly above jaw-line length fringe. Which was in truth, muchly surprising. The last time I remember having a fringe was aged around seventeen and I was growing it out.

The transition between my Mum having control over my hair and me was quite big. When I was fifteen, my Mum had my hair ‘layered’. I don’t think that I had any idea what she was talking about, but she seemed excited and I didn’t really have too much interest in what it looked like. The only time that I did was when I had it short and the hairdresser made it uneven.. which caused huge contention, but layering, I was utterly down for. My hair is naturally curly. If I go to sleep with damp hair I wake up with an eighties perm. Post layering, It was much curly. I am not sure I quite realised how curly until the day of my class photo. Mum had given me instructions to remove my hairband and ‘shake it out’ prior to photograph time. I did, with the due diligence of an obedient daughter. Sweet and Holy Moses. On first glance of this photo, my hair is all you see, you would be forgiven for thinking that ‘Cousin IT’ had just landed on my head. My hair was huge. Almost as wide on each side as my face was. I think it was this photo that inspired more of a love for my hair. Growing out all layers and fringe with immediate effect became a priority.

This morning I went to see my most talented friend who made my hair happy again. And now I am going to find a good selection of clips to contend with my five minutes of boredom.

Map Point. How does boredom affect me?


Fifth letter

Dear Robert,

Thank you. Meeting you changed my life. That isn’t to say that other people have not changed my life too, but this has happened over a longer period of time. From when we began chatting online things changed fast.

Getting a message from you was excitement. The eloquency of your words to which I could respond became a compulsion, almost addiction. It was so incredibly amazing, being able to converse issues of psychology, philosophy and all manner of what we consumed on social media. Your words fuelled my words, and our collective ideas grew.

Also, there was guitar. To start with I taught you classical, then that developed into learning the chords for ‘Scarborough Fair’, then suddenly we were singing together (with the counterpoint). The book of songs grew and through this, I developed a confidence in my own voice that before hand, I just didn’t have. Singing in front of you doesn’t feel embarrassing, even if my voice cracks or I miss the note entirely, it is funny. You make it that way.

Our nights out. The first time we went out I had no idea what to expect. We sat on the beach and drank Jack Daniels (the honey one) and you chased away an errantly large spider. You were loud and shouty and we danced to a Waltz (music supplied by your phone, think it was Japanese) under the arches on the beachfront whilst the rain cascaded heavy with illumination from the street. Subsequent nights out have been colourful and insightful. From unlikely injuries, multiple destroyed phones, meals of awesome and collections of waiters. They have been fun.

You take me shopping in nice places. You find clothes for me to try on and you have an innate ability to know what will look good on me. You have dyed my hair (even by using my inane drawings as reference) and talked through makeup. You make me pretty, and sometimes I forget to do that.

I know that I have done good things for you too, reciprocation is an inherent part of any friendship, but this is a thank you from me, expressing all the love and gratitude that I have for you.

Shiny always


Map Point. Who do I share my time with that makes me happy?



I feel pretty

Last night I was sitting in Maggie’s garden, she and her son were cleaning the decking, and I noticed my reflection in the long glass door, and it really surprised me. It wasn’t that my clothes didn’t match (always a possible) or that a bird had sporadically landed on my head (this would be impressive), it was that I looked really relaxed. And also poised which felt unusual to see.

I think it comes down to feeling pretty. It makes me smile as I say that, in a somewhat wry and self-depreciating tone. To me feeling pretty isn’t just about what I look like, it’s about how I feel. When I am confident, feeling self-assured, I feel mighty, I walk taller. And it genuinely doesn’t matter what I am wearing, or if I have makeup on, or whether my hair is scruffed up in a ponytail (although optimistically I don’t have leftover smoothie on my face, this has been a contention and no one ever tells me..and most of my smoothies contain spirulina. Which is green.) . When I feel pretty, I am pretty (irrespective of green cup lines on my face).

I guess we all have our own standard of deciding what it is that we think we should look like. From a myriad of variables, how long or short our hair should be, whether or not our clothes are on trend, or whether we are aiming for a particular physique. And I think it is generally a good thing to aspire to better, but what if that comes at a massive cost, or simply isn’t an achievable goal? I know myself well enough that as much as I might think some hairstyles are utterly beautiful, they are not for me on a daily basis. When my hair is done by somebody else, I love how it looks, but I also know that there is an incredibly slim chance of me waving my arms above my head to attempt the recreation of aforementioned incredible hair. So my hairstyle needs to be low maintenance. This could change at some point, but currently, I would hypothesise, unlikely. Because I understand this, I have much love for hairband (and also my hair!).

Having a realistic understanding of how I function is important to how I perceive myself. If I set goals that are not reachable then that is a world of sad. I don’t want to be in a position where I feel disappointed with myself, where I look at myself and see only things I have failed to do. When I look at myself, I want to see beauty that makes me smile. And that’s what I saw in the reflection last night.

It isn’t that I have changed dramatically, it isn’t because I was wearing new clothes, it’s because I am learning to feel content with myself. And now I feel pretty.

Map point. Where am I judging myself too harshly?