MY WINTER OF DISCONTENT

I've only just decided to start blogging. I suppose you might well ask why? Well, I've started this web site see. I know, I know, most people my age are curled up with the TV or a good book. At the risk of sounding completely ga ga I'm not your average 60 year old. I like new challenges, so there.

Ok, here's the deal, you can pop back now an then to try keeping up with me or not, that's your choice. However, if you do, I promise to try my best to be entertaining. Ok? Feel free to post comments I always look on them as positive affermations that I'm still alive an kicking.

This blogg will be mostly about me, my family and my life in general. Writing about my life would not be complete without a look at the passing of time. While I can, and have, waxed lyrical on how things were in my past, what about the here & now?

At a trendy hairdressing salon in the millennium year, the march of time, & my age in particular, left me in need of a stiff drink & a whole bucketful of reassurance from friends.

It was just after our move from Hillingdon to Guildford, I was feeling a bit isolated & in need of some TLC, so I booked myself into this 'trendy salon' to have what I thought was a moral booster.

Now, you have to bear in mind, these people didn't know me from 'Eve'. However, this was a well-known chain and I was confident it would be just like the one I used previously. And I thought it was. That was my first mistake.

The perm rollers removed, I sat back as I usually do with my eyes closed, waiting to be finished off. The stylist returned and got to work, I continued to sit with my eyes closed, enjoying the usual pampering. That was my second mistake. Never, ever, take your eyes off the stylist after you turn fifty.

"There we are dear" he said holding up the mirror.

This can't be right. I counted the faces looking back at me. Just two. One trendy guy, and one odd looking woman. She had a large double chin, and little chipmunk pouches, topped off by an enormous thatch of iron-grey filings.

Who was this person? It certainly wasn't me. Well that was when I lost it. I grabbed a comb from the shelf and while a look abject terror slowly came over the 'trendy guys' face; I completely destroyed his creation.

'If I'd wanted to look like my grandmother', I growled viciously, dragging the comb through the offending thatch. 'I'd have brought a photograph of her for you to copy. I have never been so insulted' I poked and prodded trying to get my iron fillings where I wanted them to go.

'How old do you think I am? Just because I'am a grandmother, it doesn't follow that I want to look like your antiquated version of one. Who the hell trained you for god's sake? Medusa?'

I gathered what remained of my dignity; paid my bill, and left him to ponder on the errors of stereotyping.

Although I was, and still am comfortable with the way I have aged, I am not yet over the hill. Just because I've gained a little weight and a few grey hairs, they needn't think I'm ready for the knackers' yard yet.

I made myself a solemn promise that day. I will have to be dragged kicking and screaming into my dotage. Then,if all else fails I will don a purple hat.