Herefordshire Life columnist Carolyn Lazarus and her bad hair wedding day

PUBLISHED: 11:49 14 January 2011 | UPDATED: 16:37 20 February 2013

Herefordshire Life columnist Carolyn Lazarus and her bad hair wedding day

Herefordshire Life columnist Carolyn Lazarus and her bad hair wedding day

It's more than 20 years ago, but Carolyn Lazarus's wedding day still stirs up hair-raising memories

We got married in Weobley, on the first of July, 1989, but even now I recall the day vividly and often.I remember emergency repairs being carried out to my wedding dress in the tea shop while Marc and the assembled guests waited patiently in the church next door. I remember our well-meaning but amateur organist fighting a losing battle with Handels Arrival of the Queen of Sheba while the guests stood shaking with silent laughter. Above all, I remember my hair appointment.

My parents had arranged the appointment just as they had done everything else in the run-up to the big day. My sister Janet and I arrived promptly at the village salon at 9am, nervous but excited. Inside, a clock ticked in the silence. It was as though we had entered my grandparents front room in their old terraced house; I nearly looked round for the piano. Rather than bother me, this sense of dj vu lent a comfort and charm to the occasion. I sat in a comfy chair looking forward to my cup of tea and selecting my hairstyle from the magazines on offer as two young girls began work on Janets hair. This was going to be fun. At first I was impressed by the studious attention to detail. However, as time went on I began to puzzle as to why it was we were the only clients that morning. Why were we not hearing the repeated gentle tinkle of the doorbell as ladies came in to wait for their chosen stylist, jostling for space in the crowd? Why was there only one comfy chair? Why did one head of hair need two stylists anyway? The awful truth then struck me. We were, indeed, in a front room. The salon was not a salon at all and there were no other clients. We were the only people, apart from my mother, who had ever come here. These people had never cut hair before in their lives.

I tried to calm myself. I shut my eyes and did some heavy breathing. Then I began meditating on the word uummm still with my eyes shut. When I opened my eyes I felt quite dizzy. I began to focus and saw Janet giving me a funny look in the mirror. I shrugged my shoulders and noticed the hairdressers giving each other funny looks over Janets head. Thats rich I thought to myself, Im the one who should be giving funny looks. I put down my tea and glared at the three of them.

A further hour of tentative tweaking went by until I could stand it no longer. I told the girls that finished or not they were going to have to move on to the bride, me. They stared at me. Quite at a loss as to how to bring their efforts with their first client to a conclusion, they resorted to copious amounts of hair spray. The effect was dramatic. It was a windy day but Janets hair did not move all day. It sat on her head quite separate from her. It was rigid in the way that dead bodies are. It could have demanded its own seat at the reception.
When the mist in the salon had cleared it was my turn. I sat bolt upright in the swivel chair almost as rigid as Janets hair. Suffice it to say that all efforts with my French headband failed. I got up as the girls were still trying to affix clips, grimaced at the obligatory rear view muttered lovely thank you, and rushed out, followed by Janet smiling sweetly.

Shaking I reversed the car realising only just in time that the terraced car park area beneath us had run out. For a moment we hung suspended in mid air Italian Job-style then we shot forward, jolted onto the road in first gear and lurched home to my parents house.
Once Janets T-shirt had been cut off her and I had pulled out all my clips I calmed down a little. Our haircuts had put 10 years on each of us but it could, I suppose, have been worse?
By way of post script we have now found some excellent hairdressing in the county. We frequent Peter Prosser Hairdressing in Church Street, Hereford, a salon with the accolade of Midlands Hairdresser of the Year. This has had the combined effect of bringing Herefordshire hairdressing onto the regional radar and restoring my youthful looks!


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