Dearest reader, today’s little out pouring of ocular delight, isn’t going to be the usual jovial read. Though I hope you’ll come away with a warmed heart and dampened eyes. I (your loving writer) recently had a client come to see me, who shall remain for the purposes of this discussion anonymous, but this client came into the salon in search of help. Now, when someone comes into the salon requesting aid, its usually because they’ve decided on a whim, to go from jet black to platinum blonde in one sitting and their hair now has the consistency of something that would be better suited served with meatballs (or meat-free balls for that matter). Or alternatively they’ve thought the immortal thought “how hard can it be” and now have a fringe like Dave Hill (he was in Slade, look him up). On this occasion it was something very different. Client in question had come in because her hair had been transformed by cancer treatment. I know we’re ebbing closer to the most wonderful time of the year and the nights are drawing in, so the last thing you want to read about in your break is a blog talking about cancer, but taboos are there because we don’t want to talk about them and because we don’t make light of them, so stick with me. The brutal aggression of cancer treatment can do all sorts to the body. Besides causing people to lose their luscious locks, it can also return completely different. This being the case with the lovely client in discussion. Who pre-treatment possessed long blonde, fine hair, then post treatment returned the polar opposite. Being diagnosed with the illness and going through the gruelling ordeal of the intense treatment and then to glance in the mirror in recovery and not recognise the vision staring back, must be a trauma in itself. Now, before we go any further, I’m never going to claim that hairstylists, dressers, barbers or even hackers have the healing powers of our wonderful NHS staff. Or, that we have the same abilities as the nuns of Lourdes, but we all know how our hair makes our mood rise and fall depending on how it looks. You, yourself have driven up this cul-de-sac of waffle because you’ve wondered onto our site, searching for better hair. CIQ (Client in Question) had gone from one extreme to the next. Their fair and whispy strands had been metamorphosized into dark, thick, corkscrew curls. After a tearful consultation, with barely a glance towards the mirror. We had a plan. It was a case of less if more, baby steps and other clichés that would be found before a movie montage. The day arrived, we’d done our homework, we’d had thoughts and the iPad was fired up with blogs, pictures, ideas and curls, curls, curls After a strong coffee with a large indulgence of an Irish whiskey and cream liqueur, ( for legal reasons I can’t say the name of said drink but the comedian Bill Bailey would approve) and so we began. I assured the CIQ that time was on our side and with baby snips we delved into their rejuvenation. There was more anguish in the room than Tory press conference but slowly, they began to peak into the mirror. There was laughs, tension, nerves, tears, fears, shakes and cold beads of sweat….. I have no idea how they felt, but I was going through all of them. As the hairdryer’s whining died down, bringing the fans tireless revolutions to an end, the last cut curls, falling to the floor we had reached our destination. I’m certainly not going to say that CIQ jumped up with delight and professed her everlasting love for me. In fact, there was a few tears and a reassuring remark for me of “ I don’t hate it”. We’d already taken a picture of a frumpy older looking woman before we’d even washed and with the feeling they weren’t utterly mortified we marched on and once again pointed the lens. This time on the other hand, the viewfinder was pointed at a beautiful young woman with a glimmer of hope in her eye. On leaving there was hugs and optimism and that’s truly the point to this ramble. Sometimes people come to the salon for time away from their woes. Sometimes people come for a natter or to have peace. To get away from their partner or to confide in an open ear. Some people on the other hand, they. need more than that. They need their confidence restoring. The feeling of being beautiful again or more importantly, the feeling that they are them again. Even if the reflection is slightly different. I was genuinely moved by this experience and feel like we now have a real bond. With that in mind I’ll leave you with the immortal words of the Monty Python boys.. All together now, He’s Not the messiah, he’s a very naughty boy… wait, that’s not the right one..

I've got love for you if you were born in the 80's