Suffering from the Cuts

Could this be Oundle?

Oundle is a quaint little place certainly. But what it lacks in size it makes up for in the multiplicity of its hairdressing establishments. And its microclimate apparently. ('It's always sunny here isn't it Kate?' MD regularly exclaims, through sheets of rain. 'Lovely Oundle.')

The other day, MD decided to take me along to a drinks party with some of her chums. This agreed, she started shooting me sceptical looks. She had realised she didn't like my hair: 'Do you think we've got time to do something about your hair before tonight?' she probed. Note the cunningly inclusive use of the word 'we' there.

I quite liked my hair. I've been growing it ever since MD stopped forcibly imposing regular trips to the hairdresser when I was sixteen. 'But you look so sweet!' she would croon of my painfully uncool bob. That, MD, was exactly the problem. 'Sweet' is not the ideal look for a teenager.

Oundle boasts no fewer than four hairdressers. One caters for grannies, one for the cool kids, one is closing down and one has nice premises in the middle of town. To that one I was sent. The uberstylist - we'll call him Bryan - does my mum's hair, and once gave her free highlights. Clever man. Now he is feted all around town, and MD thinks nothing of sacrificing her daughter's head to his whims.

In we go, Dogface in tow. 'What a beautiful doggy,' squeals Bryan, retreating behind the counter to prevent Dogface's beautiful paws from getting on his black Armani skinny jeans. MD says, 'Hi Bry, can you do something about my daughter?' They laugh gregariously. I am not going to like it here. 

My hair, innocent of the horror awaiting it, is at the emergency stage preceding wash-time. Bry looks at it; he looks at MD. They chuckle roguishly. 

A preferable hairdresser

'I just would like…'

Bry: 'That is a mess isn't it?'

'Yes,' chips in MD helpfully, though - for the record - I suspect it was a rhetorical question. 

Bry takes me delicately by the shoulders. 'OK, why don't we just shorten it up and take it back to your natural colour?' 

['Oh God no,' I think.] 'Er, I don't know,' I reply, 'I would just like…'

MD: Bry that's a great idea!

Kate: But

Bry: Thing is, I'm the hairdresser, so let's just trust me yeah? OK?

MD nods vigorously. MD is paying. K submits. 

Of this there will be no photos. Here are some more swimming pigs to take our minds off the horror that ensued:

Happy

Have you been injured in a hairdressing accident that wasn't your fault? Let me know.