Yesterday I had my hair empinkened again. It’s been blonde with a huge motorway of dark roots for weeks as my money has had to be spent on less frivolous things. I have missed being pink. I truly believe that pink is my natural hair colour. I mourn the fact that I have to have it added rather than being able to grow it that shade in the first place. I am convinced that one day, generations into the future when I am dust on the wind, they will be able to do this for people. It’s one of the few things that makes me feel sad about not being immortal.
Pink hair is excellent news.
In other excellent news:
On Sunday night our whole family plus assorted lovely friends schlepped off to Sherwood Pines to go and see Elbow do a concert in the forest. It was wonderful. The weather was chilly but it didn’t rain. Our picnic beforehand was rather British, i.e. we ate it wrapped in blankets whilst pretending to enjoy sitting outdoors flinging olive pits into the undergrowth, but the concert itself warmed us up, inside and out, and even Jason sang and danced. To put this into perspective, the last time he danced with me was New Year’s Eve twelve years ago. It was momentous.
Tilly has finished her A Levels. Her last exam was on Thursday and she is now no longer ‘at school.’ This is terrifying and brilliant. Brilliant for her, terrifying for us. She is off in London for a few days with her boyfriend, celebrating. This too, is slightly terrifying.
In less excellent news, my health is fairly crappy right now. One of the side effects of the menopause drug I am on is joint pain. I had it in the first month of jab and it went away. Now I have it again. It kicked in last week, a few days after my top up jab and it’s been grim. It’s particularly affecting my wrist and hands, and I’ve had to put the garden work on the back burner for now because until a few days ago, even turning the tap on at the sink was making me cry. It’s easing off slightly this week, but not enough for my liking. I have a thousand things to do that fragile joints are not compatible with and it’s so frustrating to be in the middle of jobs I can’t finish. I am trying to think positive thoughts. The last time this happened, it was only temporary, so hopefully it will be again and then I can get on with my not so grand designs.
In the meantime, I can just about wield a paintbrush, so I am painting my walk in wardrobe, very very slowly indeed. I’m painting it magenta. I have decided on silver woodwork and I’m going to paint the ceiling like a cloud. Even though the work is slow and I’m in pain while I’m doing it, the thought of what it will be like when I’ve finished is cheering me greatly.
I’d just add that when I say ‘walk in wardrobe’ we are not talking Mariah Carey style extravagance here. We are talking about a weird little L-shaped room off our bedroom where half the space is taken up by the boiler and immersion heater and a lot of pipes, which no amount of magenta paint will make look pretty. The wardrobe element is some scaffolding poles bolted to the wall. I’m just about to have shelves in there for the first time in four years, which is exciting. Before the shelves, all the clothes that weren’t on the rail were crumpled up in cardboard boxes I got from the Co-op for the purpose of moving, and which have never been replaced. It’s a life of high glamour here.
In even less excellent news, I’m not watching the news again. The unspeakable continues to unfold on an almost hourly basis. I’m drowning it all out in magenta paint.