Another gentle bout of meditative tedium in Morrisons checkout yesterday, when suddenly my very relaxed hair started to vibrate on my head. Then nudged in the ribs by my companion, I was told we were standing behind Nicky Clarke! My hand inched (or should that be centimetred now?) towards my trembling locks. Eeeek, would he turn around and notice the errant mess of a coiffure? Ha! I thought. If he does, I will deliberately not notice and chat loudly to my verger about how I really love all of the John Frieda range. No. He seemed quite intent on buying vast amounts of lilies! Hmmm Oh, I love a man who buys flowers for the house! Veronica blurted out! Duh, well so do I, but this is not the time ... oh no ... he is turning around. And me, looking like Boris Johnson on a windy day! Phew, hes paying. No. Be brave. Hi, youre Nicky Clarke? Oh your products have been my hairs salvation! I rather pathetically ventured. And then it struck me that one look at my hair and that would have turned into an insult! Bugger! He smiled, and with a toss of his blonde pony tail said, Aww great! How you doin? What I should have said was fine thanks, have a great weekend. But no, I began to explain my bemused crop! Nah, dont say that love, he went on. looks fine! thanks but it is a bit of an accident waiting to happen right now! My verger Veronica said he must have thought I was bonkers, and I had my clerical gear on. Probably thought I was going for an audition for a Vicar of Dibley tribute band. Got home and looked up how much he would cost for a cut and blow dry at his Mayfair salon. Oh only £500! ummm how about Charles Worthington then? Wonder if he shops in Morrisons Chalk Farm.
Posted on: Mon, 25 Aug 2014 09:32:09 +0000
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