Ah me! Saturday morning and I am all a quiver for the post. I am expecting delivery of 4 solar lights to further enhance magical ambience in backyard. Suddenly they are here, but my excitement is cruelly crushed as they are all (4) revealed to be broken. I ring the suppliers (Strawberry Fields), and inform them of tragedy. Lady assures me Someone Will Call Me Back. Nobody does. Am disappointed, but is Saturday and is karaoke at pub tonight, which hopefully will go some way to revive spirits.Have appointment to get hair trimmed in afternoon, so set off to local hairdressers. Only me in salon, and the gentleman hairdresser asks if I would like hair washed or cut dry. I plump for washed, (saves me doing it later), and he proceeds to do so. He then informs me Quite A Lot Came Away in the washing process. I hardly dare ask how much Quite A Lot is. A hank? Most of it? Am horrified, as hadn't noticed great clumps falling out at home. Hair is fine, and possibly finer than when younger, but still, hardly Sparse. Hairdresser combs through my few remaining strands and then starts brandishing his scissors. 'How much off'? he enquires, picking up a dripping lock of hair. 'An inch'? I quaver, and he does a Sharpish Intake of Breath, much in manner of Two when I'm parking. I summon a degree of assertion, which I feel is needed. 'An inch' I reiterate firmly. He looks at me in the mirror and shrugs. It is cut to the required length, and blown dry. He keeps clutching at fronds of hair and waving them wildly about. Is new technique I suppose, maybe to encourage hair to Try A Bit Harder. Am happy with length, only quibble is fringe, which is decidedly Cleopatra-ish.
Pay up and drive home, to find Two attempting to concoct Shepherds Pie from TV chef's recipe. We have purchased the necessary Minced Lamb, garlic, tomato puree, flour, onions, etc etc etc. in faint hope will produce tastier than usual Shepherds Pie. Quite exciting really. Sadly, after all that effort, the final product was Nothing Special. And even more sadly, Two has made enough for tomorrow as well.
It is nine pm and I am Ready For Night Out At Pub again. Am wearing quite staid outfit this week, skirt and jumper, but have donned cream coloured high heels to make statement. Karaoke is all set up, with vast tomes on tables containing myriad selections of songs to choose from. Unfortunately only about 5 people in pub. Sadly, it is not a successful evening, the usual throng fail to materialise, and my hopes of dueting with Mrs Rosy Mateus are dashed. One bloke standing at the bar, (sorry, the only bloke standing at the bar), suddenly pricks up his ears as a Johnny Cash track booms out. (The karaoke-man is pluckily playing on, despite lack of takers). Man at Bar decides to give us a rendition of 'I walk the Line', (Johnny Cash). Regretfully He Cannot Sing, Keep Time, or apparently, Read. Is abysmal. He is truly awful. He is Beyond Flat. Way Beyond. For the first time in weeks, we leave early.
So, unexpected early night. Shame.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment