Love is in the hair

I went to get my hair cut this morning (a very rare event for me). As I was leaving, my hairdresser went into a side room and emerged with daffodils and a large box of coloured sewing thread, and said they were for me*. What a lucky person I am.


The poor man had recently been fished out of the Thames after falling off a walkway and becoming trapped between a boat and the Thames wall. He broke a rib, bashed his ankle and briefly knocked himself out. Scary stuff. I am very glad he has fully recovered, not least because he is clearly a man of generous spirit but also because for a few hours only I look as I have grown-up hair. Tomorrow will be another story, but then I will have daffodils to admire and threads to gaze upon.

* Well, OK, the threads are actually for my sister, but I can pretend, can’t I?

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