Firstly I better say “Happy New Year!” I only wish that the act of saying it was enough to magically make it so. I realise that some of our readers already know it is going to be a $%&#@* awful year (*insert own expletive to match personal sensibilities).
Here the countdown to hair-mageddon has begun. One of my resolutions is to blog more, which will not be too hard given the excitement that is to ensue. In the meantime I am going to entertain / bore** you (** please select as appropriate) with my hair goes countdown.
I will tell tales of my relationship with hair, my own and other people’s. Today I will start at the beginning. Like some of my own babies I was born with no distinguishable hair. When it did appear I am told it was so fine and white blonde that I might as well still be bald. I can believe it, my own Jenny Wren had very fine hair as a small child, she now has the thickest.
I don’t have any photographs of me, other than one of me with my grandmother. The rest have been left behind in the past.
Eventually it started to grow but due to its fine nature it was kept short. I don’t have any memory of who cut it, could have been my mom or my nan, if you’d seen it you might even think my granddad! Whoever it was, I was kept short until I was at least seven. At that point I swore I’d never cut my hair again!