Hair

In the hairdresser's it is warm and by now it's familiar, comforting, relaxing. The decor is black and cherrywood and for some reason, lavender.
The first bit of the appointment, where the dye has to stay on, is a long stretch, I have brought a stack of books and magazines.

In 'Mind' I read about a new theory on empathy and altruism. Both, the theory says, come about as a result of a blurring of the difference between ourselves and the other. Psychologists are excited. It's a satisfying idea.

I finish 'A Thousand Splendid Suns' and cry right there in the salon.
Minoush tells me that Afghans speak a type of Farsi that she sometimes can't understand.

I read a section of 'Les Caves du Vatican'. The pages are yellowing, it's one of the books I brought back at Christmas. I have forgotten what a craftsman Gide is.

Bill Bryson reminds me about the rules of apostrophe use. I'm not an offender, except, perhaps, sometimes with the plural units of measure rule, 'in two week's time'.

I leave Anne of Cleves behind at the hairdresser's, swapping her for Alison DuBois.

Last night's TV gave us a new series of 'The L-Word' despite the writers' strike. Les girls are back.

And tonight, on 'Moonlight', I learnt that, 'as vampires age, their scent becomes more potent from decay.'
A useful piece of knowledge. I shall bear it in mind.