Haircut

I have been up with the slugs all night (though they refuse to come out to play in winter), and am as usual strangely uplifted by pharmaceutically-unassisted sleep deprivation. No comedown, no hangover; just a rather enjoyable freedom from cognitive activity.

This morning I was booked for a haircut after my nightshift. The last haircut had cost me almost as much as the Ugly Betty specs but had left me with hair much longer than I wanted. For today's appointment, I'd thought I'd booked for the student-budget-but-trendy hairdresser in Marchmont recommended by R., but realised when I disembarked the bus that the salon name was all wrong. Instead of booking for 'The Edge', I'd booked with 'Odyssey', a blue-rinse, shampoo-and-set place for octogenarians down the road. Game for a laugh and past caring, I kept the appointment and entered the salon where I was younger than any clients or staff. Here there were those 1950's helmet hairdryers and staff dressed in mu-mus.

Being a cheapskate, all that was wanted was a wet cut- no wash, no blow dry, no grooming products, no groovy staff. And this salon for the elderly gave me exactly that! I was in and out in 10 mins, the unpretentious hairdresser did exactly what I wanted, it cost me £10 instead of £50, and was as good a cut as I've ever had. My hairdresser was not dressed for a nightclub at 10 am, did not ask me any stupid questions about my holidays, and instead we talked about her wish for a Royal Copenhagen Xmas plate from the sales. It was an entirely refreshing experience that left me converted, and I now intend to act 80 years old forever more. 'Odyssey'- get there and get square!