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Here come the scissors

 I don't do hairdressers' because they  are expensive, they never do what I  want and I hate having my hair washed by someone else.  I have never  coloured it, thank goodness, so I can get away with not having inane conversations with someone I don't know but who questions me on my personal life and expects me to share all my secrets with him  or her.  I usually visit a hairdresser,who is willing to give me a dry cut, once a year, twice at the most, and in between I hack at it myself.  This causes the hairdresser much distress as she tries to remedy my pathetic attempts.  A few years ago my daughter in law, seeing me chopping with a pair of nail scissors, insisted on giving me a 'proper' pair.  As several months have passed since my last visit, this morning I decided that the time had come to pick up the scissors and have a go.  I just wanted to cut about 2 inches or so off the bottom.  I can't seem to tackle wet hair so I dried it and went for it.  I cut off nearly 3 inches while trying to match the back, which I couldn't see, with the sides.  I stared at myself in the mirror - I look like my mother.

I phoned one of my sisters this morning.  She is devastated at the way poor Boris has been treated and she thinks he will rise like the Phoenix to rule again.  I did point out that lack of  honesty,  integrity and self absorption played a part in his demise, as it did with Trump, but she responded by saying that she didn't think Trump was as bad as people make out.  Mm veritable angels both of them.  The French stormed the Bastille, although they deny this, the Americans stormed the Capital and the British stormed the media by announcing  their resignations.  How quaint.

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