Why am I telling you this? Because she has cheered the fuck up.
The National Health Service could dispense with anti-depressants and therapy sessions if they just prescribed free hairdressing. Hair makes a tremendous difference to how you feel, especially if you are female.
It makes sense doesn't it? Hair is the stuff that covers your head. Your head, your brain, your mind. If the 'covering' doesn't look good, then what's inside won't feel good.
Old ladies used to go to the hairdressers every week. They knew a thing or two.
In my punk days in the 70s my hair progressed through every colour of the rainbow. The first time it was blue with a pink fringe. People screamed as I walked past. As buses went by, I would see all of the passengers heads whip round in shock.
Another time I had my hair dyed green and blue to match my WH Smith uniform where I worked on Saturdays.
The first day at school after having my hair done blue, I arrived in break. Ever had 2000 kids simultaneously laugh, gasp and point at you? That, along with the day I wore a Union Jack plastic carrier bag as a mini-skirt to the Queen's Jubilee street party, was a highlight of my youth. An old lady went up to my mum who was hanging red, white and blue bunting and said:
"Have you seen that? Disgusting isn't it?"
My mum replied:"Yes."
Old lady: "I wonder if she even lives in this street. Any idea who she is?"
My mum: "She's my daughter."I left early to go to see The Damned and The Ramones at the Roundhouse.