New and improved...

It has been six months since my last visit, but I have finally made it to the hairdressers this week.

I really was overdue. My hair was beginning to resemble Cousin It on a windy day, and don't even mention the grey strands poking out at the top like one of those static balls that light up.

So, it was definitely time for a restyle and a new colour.

I left my little superheroes in the capable hands of a babysitter, and I left the babysitter with a bottle of wine, a large bar of chocolate and The Gruffalo - essential items to survive an evening with the hobbits. Light entertainment it isn't.

Now I don't know about anyone else, but I have always been a bit initimidated of hairdressers.

Not only are they all gorgeous and young, but there is an element where one feels vulnerable under their glare. The bright lights don't help; showing up every blemish, pale skin and dodgy eyebrow plucking...and then there is the false conversation that always manages to make me feel like I am having my teeth pulled.

Finally, it's the telling off; "Hmm, been cutting your own hair have you?" I always end up feeling like a guilty school girl who has trimmed her own hair with safety scissors.

Nevertheless I bravely walk in to a local salon, and I am very relieved to see that they are friendly and welcoming - they are of course, all still gorgeous, it must be on the acceptance information on a hairdressers course - Ugly people can and will be refused - they offer me a cup of tea and I get introduced to my stylist.

I have to be fair here. She is lovely and normal. She takes me through colours for my new style, and chats to me like my opinion is important. Which of course it is, after all it is my hair and I am paying someone to whip up a miracle and make me look gorgeous.

It's also worth mentioning at this point that I have managed to develop a nasty reaction to hair dye over the years. Nothing is ever simple eh?

The reaction was so bad before that I managed to look like Will Smith out of Hitch after his allergic reaction to fish.

However this time I have been super efficient and already had two testers behind my ears, one which showed no reaction at all! Woohoo, we are back in the game.

The thought of embracing the grey really doesn't gel with me, so slap on the dye and make me look ten years younger...well, one can dream can't they?

Talking through the colours, I am sorely tempted by the purple, alas I feel my employer may judge me even if the hobbits would love it, and aim for something more Mahogany.

Without taking you through all the boring details, I have to say that my new hairdresser was considerate, chatty in a normal kind of way and cut me a damn fine haircut.

I absolutely love it and found myself swishing my hair so often I almost gave myself whiplash...swish, swish, swish, crack...it's the age sadly. I almost felt new, which is what a decent haircut is supposed to make you feel...me, but new and improved.

Unfortunately, by the time I get home my hairline is starting to itch in a tell tale way. It feels like my ears are on fire, and my scalp is beginning to sting. Within an hour I feel like I'm wearing a helmet.

However, this is where a bottle of antihistamine and a straw really do come into their own, and I caught up on some TV with the local chemists equivalent to Lucozade.

Thank god for piriton, a couple of doses later and I am back to new. I suppose I should say that it will never happen again, that I will love the grey as part of who I am...but hey who wants to do that?

Next time I shall take piriton beforehand - and go purple, might as well be worth it!