Hair: Interpreted. 9 July 2009

Got my hair cut in a new language. Went in to ask if they could cut my hair before our lunch date with Simon’s new manager but they could only see me later in the afternoon – it would have to do. What did I need done? I just pointed my badger head at her and bared my roots. “Colore!” she said.

They offered no complementary cappuccino. There was certainly no WiFi network and table to spread out with my laptop while the colour set as there was in the posh Subiaco salon. But Sylvana, with her shiny black bob, was eager to help me to communicate my needs and even organised for an interpreter – a friend of hers -- to be present at my appointment with Claudio. I had a friend who once told me that she’d never let a straight man anywhere near her hair, and I knew what she meant. But on this occasion, I enjoyed having the attention of Claudio, a heterosexual man of about 60, to one of the features most critical to my feeling beautiful.