Was woken by Mum… didn’t especially want to get up, but I had promised.
When I arrived downstairs, she said my hair was standing on end. I replied that I couldn’t do anything about it… the girl gave me the wrong cut for my particular hair texture. It looks good for one day (if I use plenty of conditioner and my hairdryer) and thereafter it goes on the fritz.
Having put Mum in her place, I fetched a bowl of Cheerios, sat down with The Nutmeg of Consolation by Patrick O’Brian, and began reading where I left off. It said:
“The old sea-dog appeared on deck the next day at dawn, looking as some other old dogs do when they are roused untimely from their pad: uncombed, unbrushed, matted.”
Tried to tame it by slicking down the worst bits with water and drying it with my hairdryer. Marginally better. Then we went to town as it was Sunny (not Misty).
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