Toffs and Tresses

I was recently in the UK visiting family and enjoying a bit of time on my own at Sovereign Harbour; working on Trouble At Toff Towers II – Another Heap and, due to unforeseen circumstances, I ended up extending my stay. In fact, I stayed so long that my usual six weekly(ish) hair appointment became well overdue. My hair was getting very long and the Cyprus sunshine and chlorine from my (almost) daily dips in the pool had taken their toll. My hair was a mess. I badly needed a good trim. What I actually got was a good and proper bad trim!

Now you might think, when you read about my life in the sunshine, that I am made of money. I am not. I am made of stupidity. That is why I decided to economise and, rather than head into town to a salon that charges town prices, I headed somewhere else and opted for a salon that charges much less. After all, it was just a trim wasn’t it? What could possibly go wrong?

I came out of that salon with a short version of a Farrah Fawcett flick! Oh yes. A very short version. But no matter (I thought) I will wash it and dry it myself and all will be well. It wasn’t. It was completely unbloodymanageable!

The worst of it was that the chief reporter from the local newspaper had recently written an article about me/Trouble At Toff Towers for a smart glossy magazine and, whilst being thrilled about the article, I hadn’t been exactly thrilled about the photo that had been used. The lovely reporter had offered to send a Press photographer to take some shots of me the following week. OK. Shoot me. But not with a camera!

On my return to Cyprus the first thing I did (obviously) was make a hair appointment with my usual stylist; Andrea. She couldn’t believe the butchering my hair had taken. There was much tutting and head shaking as Andrea held up different sections of my hair and rolled her eyes in disbelief. Eventually there was hysterical laughter. On both our parts. Well, I mean, what else can you do? After all, I knew she could put it right and, OK, I now have much shorter hair – but I actually quite like it.

So what’s the answer…

…the Hair Police? Andrea and I discussed this at length. Should hairdressers be “mystery shopped”? Not a bad idea we thought at first. However, the key to being a mystery shopper is being incognito isn’t it? The very nature of the job would mean regular visits to salons good and bad. Just one visit to a bad salon and their cover would be blown. No, there would be no point in having Hair Police. They would be instantly recognisable by their frighteningly short fringes, Farrah Fawcett flicks and other decidedly dodgy dos