The difference a haircut makes

On this bright sunny morning I am once again inspired, and more importantly, able to add to recent posts.

The past two weeks have included a couple of very ‘full on’ therapies as well as a short family break.

These activities leave me in a very unbalanced physical state, with just enough energy to complete the family outing, or a treatment, then left for days in a light and sound sensitive state, totally dependant on whoever can care for me!

I shall return to my blog on a positive note today, yesterday morning, as a treat booked by my husband, my personal stylist, Mike from Castle Cary’s ‘The Sanctuary’ came to our home to sort out my hair!

When i first was ill, my mother had made a comment ,’ what about your hair?’, but I was in the early stages, mainly influenced by a combination of optimism and denial. I had tentitively mentioned to friends about hairdressers, hoping for a cost effective solution.

Mike has been cutting and colouring my hair for about 8 years now, and although I am not a weekly, or even monthly client, I wouldn’t dream of anyone but mike touching my hair. With natural curls, an inexperienced stylist could do a lot of damage! Although I have a wild and unkept look, there is order and a quality cut underneath it all.

From the age of 13 when I first discovered a salon in Sherborne, that first step from having my mother cut my hair. My first stylist was Mr Richfield in Sherborne, a mature gentleman who very soon passed me over to his son, Simon, whom he was training. I knew Simon vaguely through the youth club and disco scene of my teenage years, and although I actually disliked his brash social manners, as a stylist he was perfect! He seemed to care about my appearence and it was in those early years that I was certain that only men should cut a womans hair. What motivation did a woman have to make another woman look beautiful? A man however, delights in making a woman beautiful and I began to enjoy my regular visits to have my hair styled. I soon learned to just relax in the chair, Simon knew best, and I let him experiment with colour and cut and was delighted when as the years went on, strangers,(always women) would comment on the excellent cut I had. Simon went on to open his own salon, after taking over his fathers, and then yet another salon in a nearby town. I naturally moved with him, and then for the next 15 years I was in well coifed heaven.

Then as any girl will agree, my worst nightmare, Simon, now married and with his first child, had decided to emmigrate!!  I was pregnant with my first child and so my hair was growing at a fast pace.

Then began my dark years, although as a blonde, it was most depressing. I tried several ‘top stylists’ from around the region. Always paying the premium for the gentleman in charge. After several disasters i decided I had no option but to grow my hair. I couldn’t risk giving any of them a second chance. After disastrous fringes, cuts for straight hair, and awful colour matches I was devastated. During this time I was left by husband,(could my hair have had something to do with it?) and then as one man left my life, Mike entered.

I found him on a wet day in Wincanton, he was working in someone elses salon, and had recently come west from London. With years of experience behind him, I entrusted him with my mop,and calm returned.

So 8 years on, Mike has gone through my divorce, the closing of my gallery, various trials and tribulations of being a single mother in my 30’s whilst I learned of his ending love afairs, his family, his travels and the opening of ‘The Sanctuary’ in Castle Cary.

So after gentle hints, but as my husband thinks, his own initiative, he arranged for Mike to visit me at home, for the full works, colour, wash, cut and blow dry!

After having a bad day following a friends 40th birthday barbeque, I mustered the energy to sit in my bathroom. I was able to lie down whilst the colour took hold, and loved the expert touch of a hairwash by a master craftsman.

Once cut, and gently dried, golden highlights replaced the

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