Malaysian style

I loathe having anything done to my hair.

I have thick wiry hair that kind of curls. Not beautiful pre Raphaelite curls or corkscrew ringlets but the sort that just half-heartedly attempts it. It needs tremendous coaxing to encourage it not to frizz and you can imagine the traumas of being in a tropical country where humidity is a constant issue. (Does anyone recall the Friends’ episode set in Barbados with Monica’s hair?)

I’ve always had thick hair but it didn’t begin to curl properly until adolescence. My mother told me that people paid a fortune to have hair like mine. She told me this over and over as though that might help. Looking back I suspect that that some of the traumas I had with my hair might be because as a small child I was tasked with brushing it myself. I brushed the surface and allowed a vast bird’s nest – nay a bird colony – to grow underneath in the nape of my neck. When this was discovered my mother claimed something weird must have happened in the paddling pool that day. Little did she realize that I’d grown it myself through neglect. I screamed the house down while comb teeth and hairbrush bristles flew through the air. My bird’s nest had to be cut out while I was pinned to the table.

So I hate the hairdressers. Quite often the first thing a hairdresser or their junior hair washer says to me is “have you ever thought of having your hair straightened?” Whether or not I like the curls, anyone who thinks curly hair is not nice isn’t the right person to cut my hair.

It’s got even worse in Thailand because of the language barrier. I have found someone to cut my hair but she’s in England and mostly I’m not. This suits me because I don’t have to go too often but when I’m there I have to grab the opportunity so that I get sorted out at least once a year.

But my hair has been troubling me in recent weeks and I won’t be in the UK until March so … I ambushed myself last week in KL. I walked into a salon and asked for an appointment. He didn’t do quite what I wanted but it’s a good cut.

They did the oddest thing: I had my hair washed ‘Malaysian style’ – in the chair with a bottle of water and shampoo. Does this happen anywhere else in the world?

Unearthing memories

Segueing neatly from yesterday’s post about my sense of humour – or lack thereof – I found this while I was rooting through some of my old papers.





















Sadly, it’s not dated but I’m guessing I drew it circa 1997. I’m basing this guess on the age of the children… who aren’t mine at all. (My two kids did not have curly hair and no hair, respectively. Clearly the woman isn’t me either since she has sensible hair. We may have shared the white knuckles though.)

The minute that I stopped work - let’s call it 'conventional' work - where I’m paid a salary to go into an office… I searched around for a way of making some money that didn’t involve being told what to do by anyone else. Writing is just an extension of that. Cartooning was one idea but it was a small problem that I couldn’t be funny to order. I think I drew less than ten in total before abandoning that idea.

Please send any other career ideas on a postcard, care of TeaStains.

Tagged by Carol and Uphilldowndale

I’ve been tagged for a meme by Carol and Uphilldowndale. I’ve actually done this before – you can find it here – and it’s turned out rather long so I’m sticking to five things.

The rules are:

1) Link to your tagger and post these rules on your blog.
2) Share 7 facts about yourself on your blog, some random, some weird.
3) Tag 7 people at the end of your post by leaving their names as well as links to their blogs.
4) Let them know they are tagged by leaving a comment on their blog.

One
I am a potato fiend. I love them: baked, boiled, fried, roasted, mashed, hot, cold: Yum yum. When I worked in York I used to go to a little Church in Micklegate for lunch that had been turned into a resource centre with a vegetarian café. I discovered ‘Homity Pie’ there. It’s my idea of heaven: wholemeal pastry, potato, cheese, onion, leeks and garlic. As the lunch deal you could choose a main dish and two side dishes to go with it. I used to order Homity Pie, a baked potato and potato salad.

Two
As you can see from above the allium family are another passion. As a small child I would eat a jar of pickled onions in one sitting. Thankfully my Dad made his own so there was always a good supply of them. I still adore pickles today, but pickled eggs? Nah, I was forced into trying a pickled egg the morning after the night before, after exclaiming at the party that I loved anything pickled.

Three
I had my left ear pierced (in the cartilage) while I was in the UK last week! I only told my sister and I swore her to secrecy because I didn’t want my Mum to find out. Yes, I am waaaaaaay over the age of consent, but somehow my Mum still makes me feel a twit for doing such things.

Four
My hair is the bane of my life. (I’m sorry, I know I make a fuss, but Novel Racers I met last week, just ignore this one.) I’ve had it long, medium, short and orange. I’ve fought for years to control the curls. My mother has spent years telling me ‘people pay a fortune for hair like yours.’ Sorry, but it didn’t help; I didn’t care. I wanted straight glossy hair. When I was seven or eight my parents discovered what I can only describe as a large and furious bird’s nest in the nape of my neck. With hair that ruptured teeth from combs on a normal day, nothing was going through that; plus, I was a screamer! I’d been playing in the paddling pool and to this day my mother swears something must’ve happened to my hair in the pool. What a load of old tosh: I know as an adult that this bird’s nest is what happens when my hair is long and doesn’t get brushed. I think because I was a screamer my mother either left me to brush it (never) or she brushed the top and ignored the sensitive bit at the nape of my neck. However, on discovery of this felted snarl of hair, the problem could no longer be ignored. It had to be cut out.

Five
I have a Music Stylist. Yes, really, a music stylist. Let me explain. I was brought up to believe that music is a good thing but my parents thought Radio One (along with ear piercings!) was a dirty word. They like classical music. In order to fit in with my peer group around 13-14 years old, I began listening to John Peel after lights out and writing names down of funky bands before they became famous. This bit was most important. I would then scrawl the names across my bag in felt tip. I discovered, before they became famous, groups such as The Thompson Twins and The Associates. I discovered a liking for slightly offbeat, whiney music.

I couldn’t maintain this research and grew up not really caring if I didn’t know who was ‘in’. I listened to whatever anyone else put on, and I occasionally liked stuff. I repressed a dark secret for liking some country and western folky stuff. Move forward ten years and The Archivist came into my life. (He didn’t call himself The Archivist; that would’ve been rather scary.) His obsession is music. He began to make us compilations – the first one being for our son’s birth. We spent weekends and holidays with the Archivist and his wife, and quite often a CD (they used to be tapes!) would appear with them. He doesn’t like mainstream music which really suits my style. One day, over the years I told his wife he was my music stylist – and the label stuck.

Every New Year (which, prior to Thailand we spent with them – they are our chosen family) The Archivist hands over The Music Stylist’s Pick of 200X. A new collection emerged, a few years ago following our skiing trip, where everyone kept talking about Vin Chaud. I am so deeply uncool that I thought Vin Chaud was a new group: it’s not - it’s mulled wine! However, after my faux pas I now get a Vin Chaud collection of Woe and Whimsy too. I’m just not passionate enough to search out examples of my own taste in music, but I do like what I like. I rely totally on my Music Stylist to supply me with a constant source of depressing and rough round the edges music.

I know this one has gone the rounds so I tag anyone who's reading this and hasn't done it yet! Yes, that's YOU. Please let me know if you do it.