Sunday, June 11, 2006
The final challenge
I've done some pretty scary stuff over the last 6 weeks. I've thrown myself off the side of a mountain, I've been propelled down a hill in a giant ball and I've crawled through holes that look as if my arm wouldn't fit through. But I saved the scariest thing till last...getting my hair cut.
Hairdressers and I have never got on. We can't seem to communicate with each other despite speaking the same language. My fear of the hairdressers began when at the innocent age of 9 I asked to have my hair cut like Gayle Robinson from 'Neighbours'. My dad will always hark back to the good old days when I had short hair - maybe he always wanted another boy in the family. I looked horrendous and ever since then I have never found anyone who will actually listen to what I want done.
I thought I'd timed it perfectly. Get my hair cut in England the day before we leave then it will last me through Japan and China until I get to Australia or New Zealand. I waited until we got to Auckland where I knew I'd have a choice of places with english-speaking hairdressers. I was mistaken. Somehow I ended up in a japanese-run salon, with japanese-speaking hairdressers surrounded by a japanese clientele.
The only words I had in common with the hairdresser was 'hair', 'cut' and 'wash'. Cue frantic hand gestures from me and much nodding and smiling from the hairdresser. For the next half an hour I sat nervously gripping the seat watching her every cut of the scissors dreading what hairdon't I would end up with...
Hairdressers and I have never got on. We can't seem to communicate with each other despite speaking the same language. My fear of the hairdressers began when at the innocent age of 9 I asked to have my hair cut like Gayle Robinson from 'Neighbours'. My dad will always hark back to the good old days when I had short hair - maybe he always wanted another boy in the family. I looked horrendous and ever since then I have never found anyone who will actually listen to what I want done.
I thought I'd timed it perfectly. Get my hair cut in England the day before we leave then it will last me through Japan and China until I get to Australia or New Zealand. I waited until we got to Auckland where I knew I'd have a choice of places with english-speaking hairdressers. I was mistaken. Somehow I ended up in a japanese-run salon, with japanese-speaking hairdressers surrounded by a japanese clientele.
The only words I had in common with the hairdresser was 'hair', 'cut' and 'wash'. Cue frantic hand gestures from me and much nodding and smiling from the hairdresser. For the next half an hour I sat nervously gripping the seat watching her every cut of the scissors dreading what hairdon't I would end up with...
You know what? It was one of the best cuts I've ever had. She knew exactly what I wanted. So I've learnt that you don't have to speak the same language to be able to communicate. Sometimes I used to wonder if my hairdresser in Billericay spoke the same language as me.
And Rhod? Simple: Straight to the meathead at the $10 barbers (3 pounds 5o!) for a grade 1 all over please. Blokes have it so much easier!
# posted by Rhodri @ 12:43 am 
