The packet of 'blueberry' hair dye is tempting although I
note that it's (strongly) recommended not for use with blonde
hair. Not for the first time I have queried my commonsense in
dyeing my hair peroxide blonde in March. Going a blueberry shade
similarly does not seem a wise choice at this stage.
I have visions of lifting my head from the basin after the
final rinse and being greeted by my reflection topped with
rampant puce hair. The head, complete with accompanying
expression of horror, may as well drop back into the basin.
There's definitely something to be said for the 'rinses out in
ten washes' dyes. An 'escape' if you like. At this stage the
search, and procrastination, continues.
Innovative haircuts or coloring are almost the rule rather than
the exception down here [in England] especially around
Midwinter. There are a number of reasons for this. In Australia
I am constantly meeting new people, many of whom will only have
a brief period to form their impressions of me. People, rightly
or wrongly, look at your appearance and ascribe not only
descriptions of color, dress or style but also personality
characteristics. So I tend to consider my overall appearance,
especially at work - does it reflect the image I wish to
project?
Here it is different - it is an essentially closed community
- we are all well past the 'initial impressions' stage and you
are judged by what you are, not what you look like on the
outside. It is an ideal opportunity to experiment. There is
widespread community acceptance and even encouragement of
'unusual' hair styles - it provides a truly home grown style of
entertainment and photographic opportunities. The knowledge that
it will have all 'grown out' should you wish by the time you
step off the boat in Australia is also a powerful incentive.
Boredom or a desire to shock are minor considerations.
There are three nominal station hairdressers - Ash, Maria and
myself, having all expressed an interest in the 'position' in
the predeparture period. Maria and Ash completed a one day
instructional course at a local hairdressing school.
Unfortunately it clashed with a physiotherapy course I was keen
to attend so I missed out. Maybe next time.
When I arrived at Mawson, Stu (the main hairdresser to the
1997 expeditioners) ceremoniously handed over the hairdressing
box containing scissors, clippers and combs and the fun began. I
had an initial rampage of haircutting. I think my best figures
were eleven on one very memorable Saturday night.
Most of my haircuts were usually done in the lounge with
other expeditioners gathered around proffering 'useful
criticism'. The men seemed to have a fascination with clippers,
something I had never used before. I used to tell them they were
nuts, that I didn't have a clue how to use them, but it didn't
seem to deter them.
They were extraordinarily forgiving, even when I forgot to
differentiate between 'number 2' and 'number 4' clipper combs.
There were an unusually high number of balaclavas worn that
week. Talk about a steep learning curve - for all of us. Still
at least we had a common understanding - I find using clippers
stressful.
I'm sure it's a matter of practice but it's not high on my
list of priorities at the moment. And yes, before you make the
obvious comment, I've no doubt several would volunteer their
heads for shaving practice but I feel that's an abuse of
friendship. These days Kimbo and Darrell do most of the clipper
work. They are very deft and don't punctuate the conversation
with wails of 'oh no' or similar expressions of despair and
disbelief while they're cutting. As Keamy just commented
'...with Kimbo I can relax, with you I have to concentrate.'
Ouch!
Lately Darrell's been the 'Clipper King' as people geared up for
the Midwinter celebrations. Darrell is perhaps the leader of the
haircut fashion brigade, however he's been relatively discreet
on this occasion only changing his hair color from orange to
blue. Not that he can do much else - he only has a thin strip of
hair on his head at the moment.
Mart's a regular customer at the hairdressers, usually
favoring severe geometrical cuts. However his latest effort in
peroxide blond made even me look twice. Deithy, opting for
conformity, abandoned his unruly mop of brown hair for a
peroxide flat top, Cass sported blonde wings.
It's interesting - I thought about how I would view them if I
was meeting them for the first time and I was embarrassed to
admit that those hair styles and colors definitely shape my
initial impressions. Deithy altered from fun, charming, unruly,
gentle to intriguing, wild, stark, challenging. Interestingly he
says that he feels different - more exciting, radical and
energetic. It's the same for me when I leave the hairdressers in
Australia. I walk out feeling good - interesting, vibrant, as
though I have an edge.
Looking back on the events of tonight, maybe I should have had a
haircut before I played pool. One things for certain, I won't be
playing pool for a while, at least not with Mike P as my
partner. Games here are enjoyable and usually relaxed - unless
you're about to get 'blizzed'. The term is applied when your
opponent wins and you haven't sunk a ball.
The winner has the option of requesting that you go out in
the next blizzard and bare your backside. (Having said that, a
few of us play on the proviso that such a rule is not
applicable.) I don't believe any of the Winterers have been
blizzed as yet, however tonight I was well on the way to being
the first of the season.
I had paired up with Mike, one of the better pool players and
had not even considered the 'rule'. Afterall even if I didn't
sink a ball (not that unlikely) Mike definitely would. Except
tonight he seemed to be playing woefully - missing the easiest
of shots. Each time I commiserated sincerely with him, even when
he accidentally hit one of the oppositions balls. I figured you
can't play well all of the time, although I was hoping he would
manage to play well for just a little bit of the time.
Meanwhile Kimbo and Brooksy were sinking ball after ball. It
was when Mike tried to hit the white ball with the wrong end of
his cue (my shriek of disbelief alerting him to his 'error')
that I knew I was being set up. I'm only surprised it took me
that long to realize it. The situation did not look hopeful.
Brooksy and Kimbo were on the black and we had yet to sink a
ball.
I had a flare of blind panic and attempted negotiating in a
forlorn hope they would either sink one of my balls for me or
let me off the blizz bit. I tried cajoling, but they were not
very receptive. That really only left me with the option of grim
determination - thankfully it was my turn and I managed to sink
one. To say I was relieved is an understatement. Mike then
triumphantly crowed 'Well our pants are safe then'.
Correction - MY pants were safe. However I magnanimously
agreed to share, thus saving him humiliation. I have to admit I
was dismayed by the thought of an impending 'blizz', but I would
have played by the rules. The blizzard I chose however would
have been the worse one I could find - definitely with zero
visibility - or if I had to settle for one with 20 or 30 metres
visibility, I would have walked twice as much again AND found a
big rock to hide behind.
A warning to Brooksy and Kimbo - don't think I have forgotten
your glee at my impending blizz. One day the tables will be
reversed. Just the thought of it is pleasurable.
As I fled, milliseconds after the usual congratulatory
handshake, I heard Mike call out 'Hey Ingrid, where are you
going?, I've placed our marker on the table, we're in the next
game'. In your dreams Mr Pache...
