Thursday, 1 October 2015

More Elf and Fucking Saftey


I sat at a newly appointed bench seat, on the High Road, this mornng, slurping on my coffee. I watched as 2 adults shepherded 9 children around the footpaths and then across at road at the walk lights. It was so cute. Each of the kids had their own little high vis vest on and each were attached to a long bit of webbing which they were either tethered to or they were clinging onto within an inch of their lives.

They looked safe.

I was reminded of simpler times when we would run loose until the street lights came on and then head for home. I reckon I knew how to  cross a road without causing a crash or breaking any part of myself, when I was about, oh let's say 6, cos I was walking to school on my own then and I had to cross a busy 4 lane road and there wasn't any walk lights. I just legged it as fast as I could when there was a break in the traffic. It must have helped with distance awareness I reckon.

I am pleased that I have never had to be in charge of youngster babies, although I do remember very clearly taking kids into Town to the theatre in London at night and one of the teenagers, grabbed my hand when confronted with the double escalator at the tube station exit. No it wasn't a 'Graduate' moment, he had just not ever seen anything like it, and was a little afraid.

But all this is only leading me to the idiocy of being unable to get my hair coloured until I have passed a test for allergies. Elf and fucking saftey be damned I say.

I tried to make an appointment and was told that I would have to pass the test, but they would make an appointment for 2 days hence cos presumably they were pretty sure I would pass.

It was irritating to have to go out of my way to get a dabby-doozy of dye but hey ho off I went.

When I walked in, blind freddy could see that my hair was already coloured and the fact that I was still ambulatory should have meant that I was a fine candidate for uncomplicated more of the same, but NO, a test was procedure so a test was necessary.

She disappeared and came back with some card or other and a squirt bottle, and she went about sticking on 2 big squares of colour onto the inside of my elbow.

They were STUCK there, for 2 DAYS.

I am ALLERGIC to all adhesives.

I know this because I have been in this body for more than 50 years and I, well I just know it.

When I told Dr Angus, my knee bloke, that I was allergic, he really didn't believe me until I presented him some very gruesome photos and then he took all sorts of care.

I told the woman I was allergic to ALL adhesives, she asked me if I knew what ingredient I was allergic to. I told her ALL ADHESIVES, oddly enough a specialist doctor didn't ask about the specific ingredient.

So then so scraping began. It was not easy to scratch off the adhesive or the colour splotches. I am damaged. I probably did it to myself. Bloody, bugger, shit! What a fucking mess it is now.

I failed the test! Fuck!

I never fail tests. I am a high achiever like that.

I headed home thinking I would just go and get some splodge and have a go myself, but on the way to Boots there is a hairdresser which I used to go to years ago. I popped in and asked if there was any palaver involved in making an appointment to get my hair coloured. The colourist hovered close by and she used her own brain and saw that my hair has been routinely tortured for years and she just toddled off to get her colour chart so she could be sure to have what I wanted when I came in.

How fucking simple was that?

I am going in tomorrow.

Yippee.

My arm is still a mess.