Where to begin? Where better than at a thinly-disguised hairdressing salon deep in the heart of leafy Cheshire.
For reasons mostly due to demands on her time, my appointment with Mandy, my beauty consultant and coiffeuse, had been delayed beyond acceptable limits. I entered her establishment accompanied by my shaggy locks, rather like the famous etching by William Blake of the ancient of days.
In hindsight, I trace some of my disorientation to my arrival. A distinct and unusual absence of staff. With due caution I allowed myself to be guided by Mandy to the washiteria area located at the back of the Salon.
As I was receiving the ritual cleansing, another figure hove into view. She seemed to be intent on removing a few wisps of hair that were defiling the otherwise pristine floor surfaces between the shearing chairs.
That’s Claire, Mandy explained, giving my neck an accidental extra rinsing. She’s my best friend. Came in for a chat.
Hi said Clare. I noticed she was not wearing the natty black working overalls of Mandy’s support beauticians. Rather, she appeared more as someone from Cheshire Life ready to be interviewed about her beagles or begonias.
My washing position was marginally less fettered than the one which I suffer during my dental rituals. And I could at least converse here, if not make eye contact.
Pleased to meet you, Clare, I said. Maybe you could assist Mandy in helping in a little matter of my preparing for an event I’ve come in about. You both will be far more experienced of such issues of social etiquette.
Mandy baled out several cupfuls of water from beneath my collar region, and dabbed me dry.
I’m been taken to a film tomorrow by some coffee friends. It’s my first for ten years.
My audience waited attentively. I went on. It’s a new film called Bamby. Maybe you know something about it? Bamby or was it Barbie?
To my surprise, the news seemed to have shocked my two companions ...
