I'm eating humble pie - again. If you've been following this blog from the beginning, you'll know that I didn't dare go to my neighbour, Hanni the hairdresser. Her house always looked so threatening. And I was scared that if she gave me a bad cut, I'd be obliged to keep going to her just to avoid bad feeling in the street. Well, I have just made an appointment for next Wednesday. (Only for a trim, mind you - I'm not that brave.) Hanni was friendliness personified. She had an old guy sitting in the chair and he joined in the general banter, of which I understood nothing, but I'm coming to realise I don't need to understand it, most of the time.
You may wonder why I changed my mind. It's like this: more and more, I've been hearing that Hanni's a dab hand with the scissors and why don't I go there. And she lives two minutes from my door. I confess I didn't go alone - one of my Bavarian mates came with me to hold my hand. So we'll see. If she messes up, I'll take all of this right back!
Oh - I nearly forgot. It's April Fool's Day. Having failed magnificently to 'get' CG, who like Gaia was on red alert, I was reduced to hiding under the dining table and grabbing Titus' feet. It was all a bit half-hearted, admittedly. Maybe it's my age, but I simply don't feel in the mood for high jinks at six thirty in the morning.
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