Fiery redhead perhaps?

For a number of years, I have been quite spoilt. I could go to my hairdresser and be at her mercy with complete and utter trust.

I, like many others, have had my share of bad haircuts in the past. I still shudder when I think of a haircut in October 2002 that made me look like a cross between a poodle and Farrah Fawcett. This was until I met my dream hairdresser. I shouldn't technically say 'met', as she came into my life when I was strutting it about in the early 80s as a 4 year old and she was a new member of the clan.

Fast forward to a couple of decades later and she of the golden scissors is amazing. I am in a state of bliss as I no longer have that awkward nervousness of hairdresser visits. There is complete and utter trust. But I realise this trust has created a dependency - which I broke by moving overseas.

This meant I couldn't bring myself to visit a hairdresser here until I eventually could deny it no longer. It took 4 months! When I was hairdresser shopping, I realised I had become one of THOSE CLIENTS. One of those ones that I could never imagine myself being. Bordering on neurotic even.

I had a colour consultation at one salon which really wasn't going well, so I told the hairdresser 'This isn't working'. I couldn't believe the words were coming out of my mouth! I couldn't help it. She could not understand that my hair has copper undertones that I am DESPERATE to hide and must be masked with colour at all costs. All she could say was 'But whatever your natural colour is, we can't cover it, it will come out whatever we do'. I told her I had to leave. I think she was a little shocked. 'So should we still keep your appointment for Saturday?' 'Ah, no.'

Even reading that paragraph back, I sound like a nutcase.

I was then recommended to a hairdresser (one for the colour and another for the cut) who were very good. The colourist was excellent. She soothed my neurotic rambling concerns (just imagine me in a straighjacket rocking back and forth - 'can't be a ginga, can't be a ginga....') and a beautiful relationship was formed.

Although I can't really say a beautiful relationship, because I now realise salons over here are lacking something that was constant in salons back home. Nobody talks. At all. I am used to clients and hairdressers yelling over the top of hairdryers trying to talk to each other. Here, hair is cut and coloured in an almost deathly silence, except for a bit of background music.

It's just not the same being able to read a magazine article from beginning to end without being interrupted with friendly chatter.

So you haven't wasted minutes of your life reading this, here is some useful information at the end: Hairdressers in the UK don't have to go to TAFE/college, they are all trained on the job. Their apprenticeship only lasts for 2 years before they are qualified. They don't have to do the whole 2 years either, if the senior stylist thinks they are ready. My hairdresser was qualified after 11 months, which means she can work completely unsupervised.

Most good salons won't even let you come on as a client without first submitting yourself to a colour test, where they put a splodge of colour behind your ear 48 hours before your appointment in case you are allergic.

File that little bit of info away in the useful section kiddies!