The walls of my hairdressers are painted a soothing combination of coffee and cream.

An abundance of large mirrors throws the morning light around the salon.

Soft music filters through the air, intermingling with snippets of small talk.
He didn’t?”
“Going anywhere nice?”
Words riding on the waves of warm hairdryer blown air.

The rustle of a newly laundered gown.
“Take a seat at the basins”
The splash of a shower of water.
“Is that ok for you?”

The aroma of fresh cappuccino mixes with the heady, heavy scent of shampoo and the occasional pungent odour of colour chemicals.

The ringing of the salon phone punctuates the gentle energy of this place.
Phone conversations are short.

The flipping of magazine pages.

Cocooned in this feminine world, a younger me used to feel claustrophobic and bored. But now I relax here and relish the reviving therapy and the alchemy taking place at the hands of the stylist.

I bounce, in time with my newly brown again hair out the door, better able to face the world.


So – do you love or loathe the hairdressers?