The Hairdresser

Where do you go when life gets too much? When work gets you down. When bills fall through the letter box in biblical proportions. When people irritate you. When everything goes wrong and life sucks.

A place of worship -- maybe. A walk in the forest -- possibly. A visit to a therapist -- perhaps.

A trip to the hairdresser -- definitely.

A new hairdo has the ability to lift spirits faster than the elevator in the Burj , the world's tallest tower (10 metres a second. 124 floors in 56 seconds -- get the point?)

Because no matter what you're wearing (even a baggy fleece!) if your hair is nice you feel good with a capital G. And if you, like me, are blessed with a hairdresser who has more to say than 'are you going anywhere tonight?' a couple of hours in the hairdressers (even if it has a banal name like 'Hair Daze' 'Split Enz' 'or my own personal favourite 'Get the Hell out of Hair' - which btw mine doesn't) can do you more good than a bucketful of Prozac.

Of course I'm doubly blessed cos my hairdresser also happens to have a wicked sense of humour.

I spend most of the time with tears of laughter trickling down my face. Which goes someway to make up for the fact that when I look in the hairdressers mirror my mother is definitely now staring back at me. Still. With a nice young hair style in a nice young colour I look years younger -- especially if I walk with my back to everyone.

So, thank you, hairdresser -- you know who you are -- you have restored my sanity this week.