Works night oot

Took decisive action to take my mind off referendum reminders everybloodywhere today. Got lost in a hairdressers for a few hours. Not being a girly girl, hairdressers have always freaked me out. Not having your average barnet, I have always freaked hairdressers out. Something about being treated like an escaped matted gorilla on an autopsy table never worked for me. So I stopped going years ago. Then somehow I met crazy Elaine, who is also married to Dave, not my Dave I should add, but a Dave. She's great, she puts up with me once or twice a year, so I can either watch the looming gray hairs disappear or to let her swing on my head to go through one of those weird straightening treatments. And so it was today, the mad swinging straightening treatment. All of which means this will be my annual weekend to indulge in hair flicking, the underrated privilege of the ungrateful masses with straight hair. Except it didn't really take this time, so instead of being a fat version of my sister, the essence of Don King is on the verge of breaking through. Vanity, why do I bother, Dave didn't even give my wondrous straight locks a mention this time. A sign to hang up the straighteners for good.

Luckily, I did have the opportunity to head out and indulge in hair swishing at a works night out. Works nights out are always tricky to get to living in the sticks, having a very ill Tess and a crazy puppy meant it was more than likely to be a no show from me. But I just managed to catch a train in on time, grab some tapas, chat to folk, down some cocktails, sneak a lift home and finish off by watchingThis Is England with Dave. My Dave that is, not the other Elaine's Dave.

Puppy dog eyes meant Max was allowed to sleep upstairs with us......for all of 5 minutes before he started whining to ask to go down and sleep on his own bed, Blimmin Norah, rejected by our own puppy!!