Last Thursday morning Vidal Sassoon was reincarnated into the form of a fifty-five year old glamorous female otherwise known as my Granny and I was on paw to see her work in full flow.
Now I will confess that my Granny did used to work in a hair salon. However her responsibilities were to answer the telephone, take payments and make the occasional cup of tea for the salon’s charming clients. At no point was she ever trained in the art of using any scissors, razoring equipment or hair colourants.
Great Granny BB though thought she had acquired the skills to cut her hair and praised her with the notion that she, “Must’ve picked up a few tips along the way!” Mama J cautiously pointed out that Granny was a Receptionist and was kept very much separate from the hustle, bustle and hair dryer blows of the main salon floor.
Granny’s only other hairdressing experience was trimming hers and Mama J’s fringes (trying not to make them look like York’s Bar Walls as she snipped) and giving me my illustrious style, which she developed through watching YouTube videos of how to cut a Yorkshire Terrier’s hair. Now I don’t mind if my fringe isn’t quite straight or if the fur on one of my legs is slightly longer than the fur on the other side. However Great Granny BB maybe a little upset to look lopsided (unless that is the rage on the hairdressing streets these days).
Anyway the cut and blow dry began in earnest. I went and laid nervously on Great Granny BB’s sofa next to Mama J keeping my paws crossed for a positive result. About twenty minutes later (quick scissor action there indeed) and Great Granny BB emerged from her kitchen perfectly quaffed and preened to hair styling perfection. She was so pleased with how her hair looked and exclaimed that Granny had done a better job than her usual stylist who is away on a month long holiday at present.
Her new look barnet was an additional bonus for Great Granny BB who is feeling brighter at the moment, as her condition is being medical managed with pills and potions.
Mama J told Granny to text our lovely hairdressing friends and offer her services in their salon, as with a little guidance and full training she would be unstoppable in the hairdressing world. BBC1’s Cutting It eat your heart out!
On Friday lunchtime with Great Granny BB doing so well Granny and Grandpa decided to take her out for a few hours to see if she could find a new plate, as she wasn’t getting on too well with the one Granny had given her. So a trip to Dunelm, Tesco and Wilko was planned.
Grandpa popped my lead and harness on and I got mighty excited at the prospect of going out with them. My excitement and enthusiasm was then so cruelly crushed about two minutes later when I was taken not to the car but in the opposite direction and down the grass away from my house slightly.
“Damn you Grandpa!” I thought as I was escorted around in circles to encourage me to do a wee. I’m an extremely smart pooch (I mean I write this blog each week so natural intelligence is definitely a forte of mine) and I got the dawning realisation of what was about to happen here. I was going to be bloody left in the house, on my own (you can start singing the song from Les Miserable here with me, “On my own. Pretending he’s beside me.”) with only the local radio station for company. All Grandpa’s sympathetic looks fell on deaf Yorkshire Terrier eyes and ears as I was in a big time strop with my favourite member of the family.
I did my costumery wee as I thought it might do my case for going out with Granny and Grandpa some good but sadly my attempts failed and I was left on my own for a couple of hours.
Mama J came home from work (she doesn’t let me go there with her either, for fear that I’ll give her customers a more stern level of customer service than they are used to with my acidic at times tongue) and was told of my disappointment of the day and she give me a cuddle for the upset I’d endured.
The Olympics started this weekend. A massive well done to Adam Peaty and Jazz Carlin for their achievements in the pool. Let’s hope this gains Team GB momentum in the medal winning stakes and more greatness is ahead of us in the coming weeks.
I’m going to be making Mama J a gold medal. I’ve already started watching old Blue Peter videos and YouTube pieces using tin foil, cardboard and sticky back plastic. She will win her medal at the end of the Olympics and Paralympics if she manages not to do a forward falling long jump over the course of this years events.
Four years ago Mama J went flying at work over her own two feet (yes a form was filled in negating the company of any responsibility) badly spraining her wrist as she fell. Her poor colleague was in such shock as well as at seeing Mama J hurtling through the air. She was off work for a whole week and at the start of that week was in such pain that getting showered and dressed was too painful. Mama J is just a clumsy soul and was at the time just taking water with her drinks so can’t even blame alcohol for her major wobble over.
The timing of her fall meant she could enjoy the highs of London 2012 (every cloud) although Mama J has said she’s more than happy not to throw herself about, to go to work this time around and just catch the paws and fingers crossed highlights on the News. Good luck again to Team GB, go on and smash it!