When we felt like Hagrid...

It wasn’t swine flu: I diagnosed myself. I didn’t seek medical advice about it but the respiratory bug that it was, knocked me right off my feet. Crucially, it didn’t give me a temperature and I’ve passed it onto the children who just got coughs. So, in anticipation of their return to school tomorrow we stopped in at the hospital to get them ‘declared fit.’

I warned my strapping 6ft 1” son (who’s 15) that we still had to go to the children’s department, and we all had a snigger that he’d probably try and get into the climbing frame room. Son was most disappointed to discover the play area was closed because of the swine flu virus, which I understand can exist for up to 24 hours on hard surfaces.

Toddlers raced around and babies howled. My great big children hung their heads and looked down at all the small people.

The tiny Thai nurse stood Son on the height and weight scales and then needed a step ladder to reach up to place the ruler on his head. Son obligingly crouched down to enable her to extend far enough to measure him which rather defeated the object, but then I suspect there’s no danger of him not growing sufficiently. I think after yesterday’s appointment that his files might well show him as having shrunk. A medical mystery perhaps.

Barney the purple dinosaur sat on the doctor’s desk; just in case one of my children might need him…The doctor examined them and then declared them both fit for school but in possession of coughs. He prescribed ten minutes each on the nebuliser and we were all issued with masks to make our departure from hospital safer for all the other patients.

I can’t believe that I took this picture in the treatment room. Clearly they weren’t very sick and I couldn't resist documenting the final embarrassment: the nebuliser masks they had to wear.

Just stepped out of the sa-lo-n

Yesterday I had my hair cut.

I had a LOT cut off. From just above my belly button to above my shoulders. It’s too hot here to wear it long so usually it’s always twisted into a pleat with a sort of firework of curls appearing out of the top of my head.

When I told Daughter I was planning to have it all cut off she asked me what style. I said ‘you know that black and white picture of me at Nanny and Granddad Kent’s, with my hair in a bob? I thought I’d do that again.’

‘Oh Mum,’ she said ‘you are so pretty in that picture.’

‘Mmmm, thanks, darling, but I was 17 in that picture: having my hair cut like that isn’t going to change the face in the middle of the hair do. Sadly, I’m still going to look like I do now, but with shorter hair.’

I didn’t point out that I fancied the pants of the photographer and was doing an outrageous ‘take me to bed’ face (indidentally, the photographer did offer, and I turned him down … foooooool.)

I’d love to say that like A.Writer’s post about her swishy hair cut, I too look like I’ve just stepped out of the salon. I’d be delighted to report that any more whooshy head movements would result in a trip to the chiropractor. I’d love to announce that my hair is glossy, shiny and lustrous, but sadly I fit more into the Hagrid hair type, and I look more like I’ve just stepped out the back of a thorny bush and into a wild wind.

Oh well, you just can’t have everything, can you?

Mind you I’d’ve just settled for straight hair…