Hair Experimentation is Back!...

It's time to tackle a subject that's on everyone's mind. It nestles deep within, causing a wave of anxiety each time it floats to the surface. We can ignore it for a time, but it never fully goes away. What am I talking about? Hair, of course! Hair that hasn't been trimmed, styled, dyed or highlighted for five weeks now. It might seem a superficial and frivolous issue about which to worry, particularly in times of national crisis, but as Fleabag once said, 'Hair is everything, Anthony.'

Feels like a life time ago. 

Depending on style, some of us can get away without a trim for longer. I am currently growing my hair. A serendipitous decision I made at the end of last year, that's allowed me to crack on without hair length worries clouding my day. And so far, hair colour is another calm area of my life. As long as supermarkets are open, I can pick up a box of hair dye. Win. Not only have I not spent £100 a month on professional salon colouring for the past few years, I've also perfected my home dyeing skills. Now that home dye is all we can do, I am confident and proficient. Well done me. (Soz, but I have to take my ego boosts where I can.) Smugness aside, I appreciate this isn't the case for everyone. I've heard friends and family say they 'wouldn't know where to start' when it comes to colouring their hair. (I mean, the box does have instructions. It's not hard.) But I get that in the current stressful climate, attempting a potentially stressful task, that might result in a stressful outcome, isn't ideal. 

Meanwhile, my hairdressing chain keeps emailing. Understandably they want to keep their clients on board, and are offering tips and advice about hair care in these crazy times. It does make me smile though. One ad they mailed out was 'Roots Are Back!' I found the incidence of that trend coinciding with the lack of access to professional root colourists almost too on the nose. But still. Businesses gotta business.

Emma Watson makes it
look easy. When I went
through a similar
metamorphosis, I 
looked bloody shocking.

So, all in all, me and my hair are fine. It's growing, and being coloured every few weeks, just as it was. But I do feel for the people with a short style. The people that need layers cut in, and ears trimmed around, and who've got short bits round the back. Short-haired people are having to make all sorts of decisions. I used to be a short haired person, and I'd be having a lot of internal worries right now if that were still the case. Letting a short style grow is not the same as letting a jaw length bob grow out. A jaw length bob just gets on with it. When left for a while, it looks the same but longer. Someone with short hair, looks completely different when they let it grow. Choosing to go from short to long, is a year long faff. The in-between-stage is an utter nightmare. Once you commit to it, you're tied into months and months of shit hair. Once you've gone through it, you don't go back without a great deal of internal wrangling. I feel for those people. I was those people. It was hell.

Worth a try?

Many short-haired people have already made their lockdown choice. Particular the mens. A few of my manly friends and family have invested in clippers. A Number Two all over has had a sudden rise in popularity. Perhaps my hair dressing chain should email that one. 'Skin heads are back! Get clipping!' If I were a bloke, or a woman with fantastic cheek bones, massive eyes, and no double chin, then I'd probably do the same. I'd let my inner Sinead O'Connor let rip and look amazing. The fact my facial features would let me down is reason enough not to go down this root. (Did you see what I did there! Word play!) But the fact remains, perhaps now is the time to experiment. What else are you going to do? Go out? Meet your friends? Sit in an office with a load of colleagues? Course not. So trying a new hair thing could be fun. 

Rocking a bit of coppery ginge
 there. Week One of the
lockdown saw me get
experimental.

I am not, you may be disappointed to hear, planning on getting the clippers on my own head. I am not Sinead O'Connor. I know. It's a shock to me sometimes too. But I'm playing about with my hair whilst I can. Week One of the lockdown saw me find an old box of highlighting bleach. I trimmed my fringe and slapped on the dye. It did not turn green, fall out, or make me look daft. (An entirely subjective opinion I guess, but other judgements don't interest me in the slightest.) In fact, it perked me up no end. Because of having dark hair, it went a coppery-ginge, which was a nice contrast between the rest of the dark brown towards the back. Next week, I am going to slap on another box. This 'should' make it go actual blonde. I'll be just like Marilyn Monroe! Or Kim Woodburn! The thing is, I'd never do this in real life. But a mixture of boredom, wanting to do something different, and needing to fill an empty hour, have all converged on this stylish moment. 

Now is the time to look
like a pencil, should you wish.

As the initial anxiety of the 'current global situation' merges into tedium and ennui, using the time for potential hair disasters might just be the ticket. It's as near to living on the edge as we've got right now. You want to feel something? Take the plunge and shave that first stripe into your head. You want to liven up your day? Bleach some streaks into your dark hair. Bored of your increasingly overgrown cut? Follow this BBC article and trim it yourself. Now's the time. Fingers crossed, there'll never again be a period in our lives like this. It's time to mix things up. Have a go. Try something brave. At the very least, it'll give the hairdressers and stylists something to fix when we're eventually allowed to go back to them.

Have a lovely week, folks.

At-Home Style Debunked..

It's certainly socially distanced.

As we continue to adapt to the new world around us, it's only fair that companies do the same. I am regularly lifted by deliveries of food and drink that I would otherwise have had to leave the house to consume. My weekend is all the better for having ordered a delivered takeaway from an establishment that just last month was pick-up only. I greatly appreciate the case of Prosecco that my local wine bar dropped off a few days ago. We are all adapting, and companies that can, are doing so too. Fair play to them. Crack on. 

I did, however, find myself raising the slightest of eyebrows this week. I got a email from a famous high street store. Let's just call them Parks and Bencers. Now, I get it. Other than the food aisles, their stores are closed. There's warehouses full of stock to shift and they have staff wages to pay. They're thinking outside the box to make this work for them. That being said, it was all just a bit much for me. The email was titled...

'Expert Tips for At-Home Style'

My own take on at-home
style last weekend. Delivery
cask ale from a local bar.

Now then. What's at-home style? That was my first question. I am feeling unprecedented levels of personal achievement when I am awake, clean, and functional by 10am. I am proud of myself every time I eschew PJs and go for the more formal leggings and t-shirt look. I am washing my hair, half as often as I used to, economising on product-use and water consumption. My at-home style is not what it was. So, what expert tips can Farks and Dencers offer? 

Well, scrolling through the email, it focuses on a few essential items. A pair of high-waisted jeans, modelled with a tucked camel shirt and smart ankle boots. A lamp and some picture frames for my home office. Then the idea of keeping my 'pens, pencils, scissors, rulers etc tidy and close to hand in a pot, mug, or jam jar.'

My initial thought was comprised of two words. Seeing as we're playing with rhyme, let me tell you they sounded remarkably like muck hoff. Like everyone in their own way, I'm dealing with a lot right now. Having my home-lighting and pen-organisation shamed, felt a bit much. My work area - which I am struggling to use anyway - does not need to be pressured into thinking it's not good enough.

This mascara is so good it should
be called 'Better than Cheese'. Please
note my at-home style of make-up
splattered, filthy mirror.

After I closed the email, I felt confident my initial snark wasn't misplaced. It felt like it played into all the worst aspects of advertising. The 'your life is so rubbish without our product, how can you even live?' pressure that we experience. By insinuating my at-home style was a bit shit, it reminded me of the crappy rise of vagina-improving products. The advertising notion that all vaginas are terrible until you spend your money on tightening, pinkening, and perfuming products. Even in a lockdown, I haven't got time for that shit. And, I've got time for all sorts of rubbish. So, yeah. The Barks and Lencers email irritated me.

I've found that since everything changed, my at-home style - a phrase I'm now using willy nilly - has a strange dichotomy to it. On the one hand, I'm clinging to routines and rituals more than normal. I'm applying makeup every day, instead of five days a week. I'm making sure I get dressed in clothes for some hours a day - even on a Sunday that used to be a PJ-only zone. Making an effort feels more important than it once did. But, on the other hand, there are some things that I'm happy to let slide. I've not bothered with eyeliner for weeks. During the previous decade I didn't leave home without it, so that's fairly significant. Likewise, blusher. What's the point? Each day might now include makeup, but it's much more basic and 'natural' now. (As natural as perfectly shaped brunette brows can be on someone with a history wonky plucking and a lot of grey.)

My own at-home style expert
tip. Put a bottle of room
temperature white wine in
the freezer and forget
that's what you did. Hours later,
 it will result in serendipitous
wine slush #wineslush

Routines and rituals might be keeping me going, but some things are too much. The camel shirt and high-waisted jeans on the email? No. Sorry, I'm not even going to consider it. If I wore a camel shirt and jeans (which are perfectly lovely garments judging by the picture) I would be going out for the evening. I'd be in a pub or bar. I'd be watching a play or going for a meal. I would not be experiencing at-home style. If I wore something like that during a lockdown, I'd have lost my mind. For some, it may well be the ultimate in homely casual wear. For me, that accolade can only come from a garment made from fleece and including a hood. Sorry, Darks and Krencers. That's just how I roll. 

Obviously I got over it. The irritation. The snark. It didn't last long. I thought about it for a bit and got a grip. I was forgetting to see things from other people's perspective, you see. For some, ordering a new desk lamp might be the difference between a crap day and an OK one. Others may find that new jeans lift their mood. Some might get pleasure in rinsing out an old jam jar for their biros. Who am I to judge? 

I recognise an ad campaign and fair play to Narksies for adapting and rejigging their usual mailouts. And the lamp did look very nice. But for me, one of the things about the lockdown is not needing to worry so much about at-home style. I don't imagine the kitchen lights illuminating my Zooms are as flattering as they could be. I wear clothes that I'd never wear in public (hello leggings and t-shirts). In a similar vein, my brother has uncharacteristically bare-bladed his head. In these mad times, not needing to worry about at-home style is an upside. In the meantime, as it's the only place I've bought knickers in the past twenty years, I really need Larks and Fencers to keep going. I have no idea where else I'd get my pants. So please, if you're so inclined, buy that camel shirt! Buy those high-waisted jeans! Get your home office into tip-top shape. My future underwear purchases depend on you. Meanwhile me and my non-defined eyelids will be unflatteringly lit in a hoody for the foreseeable.

Have a lovely week, folks.

Will the World Pull a Madonna?

'When the plague forced Shakespeare into lockdown, he wrote King Lear. You should use the time to be just as creatively worthy!' screamed Twitter a couple of weeks ago. 'Write that symphony, learn conversational Mandarin, now's the time to master the berimbau!' 

I mean I could learn the sax over the
coming weeks. If I wanted to.

It was all a bit much, wasn't it. Whilst people watched their social plans, finances, and careers grind to a shuddering halt, being encouraged to use the abundance of free time brilliantly and intelligently, smacked of 'being a tit'. Perhaps for some, the enforced closure of life has benefitted them. (I am more than happy being actively encouraged not to hug.) But for others, getting up, administering to personal hygiene, and not hitting the gin before tea time is as equally a Herculean task as writing King Lear.

On paper, it should have been piss-easy for me. I mostly worked from home already. I was waist-deep into the editing process. Beyond the lack of non-home-based activities come evening, everything was the same. I could crack on as per.

Well obvs, that was bollocks. Rolling news, Twitter doom and gloom, mixed messages, exercise police, head-frigs all over the place - they all forced my head into shut down. It dawned on me early doors that I would have to give some thought to how I could carry on with the novel. A tweet from Sathnam Sanghera highlighted the nub of the issue. '(A) whole load of novelists out there suddenly realising that their contemporary novels in progress are now in fact period pieces.' Quite.

Any future work of fiction set in the modern day, is going to look very different. I alluded to this worry last year, when I wrote about how Brexit might need to be mentioned in forthcoming contemporary novels. This feels the same. There are a couple of specific issues that mean I'm not sure how to crack on with my book right now. First, it's likely when 'all this' is over, that life will have changed. I don't know how yet. No one does. Will Tilda, Bea, and Stewart, leap back into their routines as normal and by the time the book comes out it'll be business as usual? Or would the idea of characters behaving the way they once would, seem unbelievable and dated? Will COVID get mentioned in every conversation for the rest of our lives? When 'all this' calms down, will the effects on society be so visible that a novelist would have to incorporate them, just for realistic background? That's my first worry. The stupid thing I did with the first book, was to date it. It was set throughout 2016. I decided to be far vaguer with the timeline on this one. It's meant to take place two and a half years later, but it's basically whenever the published date of 'now' ends up being. It will definitely be in a post-Corona world.

This is where my new book is
set, but people are congregating!
That bench will need a wipe down.

The second issue is more specific to my book. My theme is social isolation. I know. What are the odds? Except now I have a much more specific definition of the phrase than I did when I planned the thing. My interpretation of social isolation was how, for varying reasons, the three main characters had moved away from their friendship groups, their social circles, and the support systems they had once known. Whether it was due to divorce, bereavement, or that their friends were busy with families, the three main characters were lonely. The plot allowed that theme to run its course, before giving them opportunities to connect - through risk taking, seeking new experiences, and reaching out. (The actual plot makes all that sounds loads more fun. Promise.) All that's well and good but what now? Can I usher a new novel into the world whose very theme of social isolation doesn't even begin to touch the sides of what we now understand by the term?

You see why my head was overwhelmed? YOU SEE? The good news is I have time to think. There's no rush. I can let this thing run its course and then see where we are. Days later, as I adjusted to the idea that having a break from the book might be useful, Sathnam Sanghera tweeted another pearl of wisdom to make me think. 'Writers: If you're thinking now might be a good time to start a novel on the pandemic, please, for the love of God, don't. When this is over, we'll want other things to think about. Do everyone a favour.' Once again, quite.

My ideal scenario - aside from tasting draft beer in a lively pub again - is that by the start of next year, the lockdown is over, there's a semblance of normality, and this book can enter the world some months later and make sense just as it is. I don't want to have to do a complete overhaul of the plot. I'm not sure it would work, even if I did. I want my book to be the way I planned it. The relatable journeys of likably flawed characters, with humour and emotion thrown in. I really don't want to have them only connect through Zoom. That would be shit. Fingers crossed that the next few months of strangeness comes to an end. I can ride it out and then crack on. That's my hope. We shall see.

Alderman's novel, The Power,
along with dystopian setting.
 

Meanwhile, some more thoughts from others. No, not Sathnam Sanghera for a change. I know. There are other excellent writers out there. First up was this article on the BBC website, where novelist, Anne Tyler, makes clear she won't be including Ms Rona in her novels. 'It would derail the small, private story I want to tell.' I like what she says. I want to copy her stance. I just need to see if, in time, it will be possible.

Finally, there was an interesting chat between journalist Dorian Lynskey and author Naomi Alderman on The Bunker podcast, last week. About seven minutes from the end, Alderman talked about writing novels that deal with global threat*. She said it's best to do it from the perspective of the global threat being over. Lynskey agreed and said how reading books set in the past feels safer because the stressful situation is over and consigned to history.

Dorian Lynskey: What's very stressful about this current period is that we are in the middle. We're like a character in the novel that doesn't have the narrator or doesn't have the appendix, or the footnotes, or anything to say, 'Ah, and actually it turned out six months later yadda yadda yadda...It must quite be therapeutic to sort of fictionally just jump forward.

Naomi Alderman: It's really really nice. That's really one of the things that novels are for, for me, is to leave the present moment. That skill is extremely useful. Because sometimes the present moment is extremely unpleasant.

So, I've gathered the evidence. I've given it some thought. I think, as far as a plan of action is concerned, a continued pause on the book will be useful. I want it to be the same as I planned. I want the society I wrote about to be recognisable to the reader. In the meantime, I will wait and see whether the world reimagines itself - like Madonna with a new album - or whether it's back to the old recognisable ways. Then, if life resumes in a similar way, I won't have to change the plot. However, if the world has changed beyond all recognition, and comes out Vogueing instead of Desperately Seeking Susan, then I'll have another think. Perhaps I can refashion the book as historical whimsy. Either way, I'm glad I've thought it through.

Have a lovely week, folks.

*Global threat was my paraphrasing. Click the link to the podcast and hear her words exactly. 

Lockdown Birthday Fun...

Here's a question that at one time would have been 100% hypothetical. How do you celebrate a birthday when a national lockdown is announced, three and a half hours before it's due to start?

42 today. New top,
big tea. Could be worse.

Yep. That's where I was at a couple of weeks ago. After a succession of daily briefings, each one announcing a little more restriction to society, the big guns were saved for the eve of my 42nd. I didn't take it personally. Indeed, I'd seen it coming and had been adapting my plans with each new restriction. When it came to the day, the restaurants and bars were out. The family get together at home was not allowed. Even the solo drive to a beautiful part of the country was not going to happen. I was left with me. Me, in a house, with a local environment to walk in, and whatever food delivery options I still had in the vicinity. 

Perspective is always handy in these sorts of situations. I could be ill. I could be dead. I could be unhappy with my own company. I could be attempting to homeschool a brood of children. I could be working long hours in a hospital, pharmacy, or supermarket. I could be living with an abusive partner. I could live in a tiny bedsit with nowhere to walk nearby. None of these things were my reality so all in all, it was a good day. It just took a bit of extra thought to make my birthday feel as nice as it possibly could. 

My thumb is covering up wine.
If you were in any doubt.

Because I like to impart helpful information at times like these, I am here to help you navigate your own special days in lockdown. Many of us will have birthdays over the coming weeks or months. Some people will feel the need to make the Easter weekend different to the others. Maybe it will be your anniversary, or the date of the wedding you were supposed to have before all this started. Here's my guide to making a really ordinary, restricted day, feel different from the ones before and the ones after. See what you think, adapt, ignore. As per.

1. I had breakfast in bed. I never do this usually, but I got up, made toast (with full fat butter no less!) and a cup of tea, and climbed back under the covers. It was lovely. Eat something you usually deny yourself. Luxuriate in the preparation of it. Take it to the most decadent place you can choose. Revel.

2. I had a bath. For some this is a daily event so skip this if it applies. For me, and my annoyingly small cess pit - not a euphemism - it's a weekly rationed pastime. That is, except on my birthday, when my motto of choice is, 'Sod it.' I also shaved my legs, used posh conditioner that I don't normally bother with, and took a lot longer than necessary. Because I could. 

New top, nice fields,
windblown but conditioned hair.

3. I wore new clothes. I had a small amount of pharmacy-related work to do in the morning so that doesn't count. But I did wear a new top to do it in. I had already bought it for the family meal that never happened, so I wore it for my rejigged birthday instead. Wearing anything new makes me feel nice. My new year's resolution was to avoid buying new clothes unless something wears out. But this top was meant for a special meal, so it had been deemed OK by the Nicky Bond Ruling Body of New Year's Resolutions. (Happily it was a blue shirt, and not a sparkly black number that would have been inappropriate in a Pharmacy setting.) As I drove, I played this song on repeat, that my sister sent me. It is probably well-known but it was new to me. (Anything released in this millennium is likely to have passed me by.) Find some music to soundtrack your special day. Sing it loud. Make it upbeat.

A birthday footpath.

4. I had an adventure. I live by some fields. Occasionally I do a circuit of a couple of them. That's my basic daily walk. But there's a place a little further behind those fields that locals have talked of all my life and I have never been. At least not that I can remember and definitely not as an adult. So, I checked the map, got detailed instructions from my brother, and then set off to find... Pex Hill! Locals will find this amusing. It's not Narnia, nor the Enchanted Forest, it's just a nice place to go for a wander. Beloved of dog walkers and local 10K-ers, and now me. In terms of adventure, it really was. Mostly because I never found it. In spite of following the instructions to the letter, I took a wrong turn somewhere and came back to the road before I had found the hill. But still, it was a very pleasant five mile walk, in breezy but warm conditions, seeing a bit of countryside, and building up an appetite for calories later. Explore somewhere new. There are footpaths, roads, or housing estates that you've always driven past but never seen where they lead. Now's the time to explore. (Locally, at a safe distance, and only once a day. But still.)

My Scandikitchen order
arrived on my birthday. This
was purely coincidental but
cheered me up no end.

5. I had a Eurovision. Don't skip this part, just use it to think of your own historical and brilliant TV events. The day before, I had celebrated my birthday eve with my fave, 1992. It's my fave because it's the first ESC where I got a bit obsessed. I can almost quote the commentary word for word, and I know all the songs, albeit none of the lyrics. I simply laaa laaa laaa along with gusto. So 1992 had been boxed off, and danced along with, the day before. Come my birthday, I followed chronological convention and went with 1993. I also knew this pretty well, but haven't seen it as much over the years. It was like revisiting an old friend from years ago. I knew it well but was fascinated to see how it had aged. Plus it brought back memories. My baby brother was born two months before this contest. I remember being left with him a few times (CUE VIOLINS!) and putting this on as a last resort, to stop him crying. My memory is that it did the trick. It was also funny to be reminded of Sonia, who I had forgotten all about. But yeah, use your own happy TV memories. YouTube will have them all. A football match, an Olympic event, a Royal Variety Show? A week or so into lockdown and YouTube are doing a lot of heavy lifting. National Theatre Live are streaming new plays every Thursday, and The Show Must Go On channel are streaming Andrew Lloyd Webber musicals every Friday. We're being spoilt with content. We should use it.

Get in. (Please note the
low calorie milk roll
I have included. Always
striving for health, me.)

6. I had food and drink. It was all a bit fraught in the days leading up to my birthday. One by one restaurants and take-away places were closing. Some were hanging on for longer, but nothing was guaranteed. When it came to it, I was lucky. My local chippy was (and still are) doing online ordering, online payment, and socially distanced pick-ups. I also had my bottle of champagne that had been chilling for a month. With chippy chips and adult-pop it really did feel like a birthday. Then there was cake. By the time I had eaten, and was opening my cards and presents, it felt as lovely as it normally would. Finding restaurants that deliver is a thrill. I'm placing regular orders with Scandikitchen. I've got a frozen bag of scouse in my freezer, delivered by SKAUS in town, that I'm saving for Easter Sunday. I even put in a wine order with my local wine bar that got delivered the same day. Businesses are having to adapt, and the ones that can, are delivering. It'd be impossible to afford it all the time, but for a special day, special food helps.


Full of chips and booze, my birthday was over. The next day, I was fully at peace with the lockdown. Just as I would have been initially, had it not signalled a further tightening of my birthday freedom. As well as the stuff listed above, I also had a House Party chat with some family, received several vouchers for local businesses that I wanted to support, and was given rain-free Spring-like weather. It was a good day. Would it have been better if I'd been able to go out for lunch, get my hair done, have a manicure, and hit the pub that night? Well, yeah, obvs. That goes without saying, surely. But none of that was an option, so I adapted. I'm lucky I could. The longer this goes on, the more boredom will set in. We may become used to the new rubbish normal, but it won't make it any more fun. We have to inject bursts of change into the weeks ahead. If you've got your own special day coming up, for whatever reason, you have the chance to plan ahead. Make a list of fun-injections. Plan your clothes, food, pampering routines, whatever floats your boat. I am here to advise. Use me.