Capelli rossi ...

Another pretty cold day, more bright sun, another visit to The Other Side. For years now I've arrived at Christmas with hair either sad or wild, longing to have it cut but having avoided the hazards of the journey to my hairdresser in Greenock because I had so much singing to do and I might have caught a cold, or flu, or - latterly - Covid and all would be lost. Today I rebelled - but I didn't go on the bus; Himself insisted on dropping me off and going on a hunt for stuff in Tesco. Such are the joys of living in a small town ...

First we had a delightful lunch from the all-morning-till-2pm breakfast menu in Tonino's, an atmospheric and splendid cafè-bar just next door to my hairdresser (I had nduja toasted focaccia topped with black pudding, a poached egg, and sriracha sauce ...). Then two hours having a wild redness restored to my beautifully cut hair while enjoying a wide-ranging conversation with Michael, who's done my hair for 13 years now. Today's interesting question was whether or not I had resented losing my teaching job when I had my first baby (my last pay slip was dated the day of his birth). I realised how odd it must seem to anyone who knows me that at the time I thought nothing of it; in 1974 that was just what happened and I was quite happy with the thought that I'd be left in peace to bring up my baby and get to know him. We weren't well off, to be sure, in receipt of fairly regular letters from the bank telling Himself "Kindly operate your current account on a credit basis" (you can see I've never forgotten the wording). 

In fact, as the conversation rambled on, I realised quite a bit about the changes I've lived through without really giving it much consideration - the cold ground-floor flat of our early married life, with a deep basement, a gable end on one side, the close on the other and the back passage to the drying green under our bedroom, but big elegant rooms and a cornice to die for in the sitting room; living in a house in which only the room we were in was heated; realising how much money was saved on heating when I went out to work again; the Damart thermals in which we spent the winter ...

Enough reminiscing. We both agreed that we weren't turning our heating down now, and that it was worth it to be warm(ish). 

My photo shows the mouth of the Holy Loch from the deck of the Sound of Scarba, the Western Ferries boat that takes us on every journey away from home. The clouds look threatening, but to the best of my knowledge didn't come to anything. We came home under a golden moon and started writing Christmas cards - and don't tell me the deadline's on Monday. I don't care. Christmas lasts till Epiphany. 

Nuff said!