Great Britten!

Right ho, back to what I hope to be "normal service". Fellow blippers, this is Britten, or at least a part of her that, in the usual run of things, is at least partially obscured. Somebody must have been humming "The Age of Aquarius" at me, or something; Hair , so far this week, is the theme. More on this later.
Britten, the poor mare, is an American washed ashore in Baltinglass. Married a Paddy, blessed with a beautiful son, foundering in the shallows of cultural misunderstandings and S.A.D.
And, to add insult to penury, a card carrying Wiccan, scouring my shop whenever her job allows, for books of spells, charms, talismans and trinkets.
Heading stateside in 12 days, (the clock is ticking....) for the Renaissance Festival.
A hairdresser by trade, downgraded to barber by necessity, I cherish her line...."I cant stay for a drink, I've got the hair of 40 men on me..."
Godspeed, Britten, but please come back to us.