I am seriously thinking of getting my hair cut. I've had long hair since I was a child and it has taken a lot of care and time to keep it looking good. Since I've been ill it has become dry and dull and has thinned, all probably down to the medication I've had to take. I'm finding that I don't have the time or the patience I once had to give it weekly hair packs or sit around while various serums work. I don't want to go short, short, I couldn't cope with the shock but certainly shoulder length or slightly longer is a very real possibility. My problem is finding a hairdresser I can trust. I've only been to a hair dresser maybe three times in the last five years after one scissor happy moron decided an inch meant a foot and added layers I didn't want. All I want is a hairdresser who can follow instructions and can do just what has been asked of her, no more, no less. However until I find one of these elusive creatures my hair is staying as it is and I will just have to put up with it.
I had the misfortune to watch the parliamentary debate on the riots yesterday afternoon. I have to ask why they bothered to return? I couldn't believe that police are now able to 'request', not demand or order but 'request' that law breakers remove their face masks. What is wrong with these people, do they even live in the real world? And as for having water cannon available 24 hours after any trouble begins, well the words 'horse' and 'stable door' come to mind. Politicians just cannot seem to grasp that when a situation is critical the country needs action not a load of over paid fat cats chatting about it. Thanks to the police things have returned to normal now and they did it without any of Cameron's new measures. What I cannot get my head around is the fact he still wants to cut numbers. Crazy.
I went to my usual Warfarin clinic this afternoon and was delighted to have the opportunity to eavesdrop on a group of four elderly ladies. I would advise anyone who has a long boring wait to sit beside any elderly folk having a chat. It can be extremely entertaining at times. This group seemed to be having a little competition and trying to out do each other in the 'I've had a hard life' category.
"My husband was sixty four when he died, really sudden it was. On minute he was tending his peonies and the next I was calling an ambulance."
"Mine died at fifty four, he worked for the film industry and was on his way to Snetterton when he got caught up in a pile up on the motorway."
"Oh he was in films then, was he an actor?"
"No, no he arranged things, I'm not sure what, it was so long ago."
They fell silent for a while digesting this peace of information, one seemed to actually fall asleep then we were off again only this time the subject was 'who is the oldest'.
"I'll be eighty seven next week, my son's bringing the family round for the day." I looked at her in astonishment I'd put them all at seventy or under.
"Oh your very good for eighty seven." Grace nudges the sleeping one and raises her voice, "isn't Maisie good for eighty seven?" Little Miss Dozy nods vigorously and promptly goes back to sleep.
"Well I was born in 1917," announces Grace. I have trouble stopping my jaw from hitting the floor, a quick calculation makes her ninety three. This woman is bright eyed, intelligent and sprightly and frankly seems in better nick than I am.
"Oh 1917, you are doing well."
"Yes and I still clean my house and do all my own cooking." Silence falls again, that round has comprehensively been won at which point my name is called. After all the bad press regarding care homes and portraying the elderly as dribbling shells it was a delight to see four such feisty women obviously still enjoying the simple pleasures in life such as a good gossip.
I had no problems at the clinic today, which is a blessing as I am feeling a little under the weather. Although the sickness hasn't returned I have a distinct wobble in the stomach and I'm off my food again. I will stick to my guns though and hope things improve over the next day or two. I have to come off the damned anti sickness tablets sooner or later and if this is as bad as it gets then I can just about put up with it.
Although not actually raining today it was dull and damp and I just didn't feel up to going out so it was an afternoon on the sofa with Red Dwarf series four. Please, please, please let things be better tomorrow.
I had the misfortune to watch the parliamentary debate on the riots yesterday afternoon. I have to ask why they bothered to return? I couldn't believe that police are now able to 'request', not demand or order but 'request' that law breakers remove their face masks. What is wrong with these people, do they even live in the real world? And as for having water cannon available 24 hours after any trouble begins, well the words 'horse' and 'stable door' come to mind. Politicians just cannot seem to grasp that when a situation is critical the country needs action not a load of over paid fat cats chatting about it. Thanks to the police things have returned to normal now and they did it without any of Cameron's new measures. What I cannot get my head around is the fact he still wants to cut numbers. Crazy.
I went to my usual Warfarin clinic this afternoon and was delighted to have the opportunity to eavesdrop on a group of four elderly ladies. I would advise anyone who has a long boring wait to sit beside any elderly folk having a chat. It can be extremely entertaining at times. This group seemed to be having a little competition and trying to out do each other in the 'I've had a hard life' category.
"My husband was sixty four when he died, really sudden it was. On minute he was tending his peonies and the next I was calling an ambulance."
"Mine died at fifty four, he worked for the film industry and was on his way to Snetterton when he got caught up in a pile up on the motorway."
"Oh he was in films then, was he an actor?"
"No, no he arranged things, I'm not sure what, it was so long ago."
They fell silent for a while digesting this peace of information, one seemed to actually fall asleep then we were off again only this time the subject was 'who is the oldest'.
"I'll be eighty seven next week, my son's bringing the family round for the day." I looked at her in astonishment I'd put them all at seventy or under.
"Oh your very good for eighty seven." Grace nudges the sleeping one and raises her voice, "isn't Maisie good for eighty seven?" Little Miss Dozy nods vigorously and promptly goes back to sleep.
"Well I was born in 1917," announces Grace. I have trouble stopping my jaw from hitting the floor, a quick calculation makes her ninety three. This woman is bright eyed, intelligent and sprightly and frankly seems in better nick than I am.
"Oh 1917, you are doing well."
"Yes and I still clean my house and do all my own cooking." Silence falls again, that round has comprehensively been won at which point my name is called. After all the bad press regarding care homes and portraying the elderly as dribbling shells it was a delight to see four such feisty women obviously still enjoying the simple pleasures in life such as a good gossip.
I had no problems at the clinic today, which is a blessing as I am feeling a little under the weather. Although the sickness hasn't returned I have a distinct wobble in the stomach and I'm off my food again. I will stick to my guns though and hope things improve over the next day or two. I have to come off the damned anti sickness tablets sooner or later and if this is as bad as it gets then I can just about put up with it.
Although not actually raining today it was dull and damp and I just didn't feel up to going out so it was an afternoon on the sofa with Red Dwarf series four. Please, please, please let things be better tomorrow.
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