To dye or not to dye: When the decision is literally a matter of life or death

Ah you will, yeah. Go on, go on, go on, go on, go on....

For me, walking into a hairdressers is like walking on to the set of Father Ted.

I’m surrounded by Mrs Doyle’s forcing their wares on me. But instead of a nice cup of tea, what they are pimping is a lot more sinister.

Yes, you’ve guessed it (or maybe not), it’s hair dye. ‘Your hair’s too flat,’ they mock. ‘A colour would really improve the texture of your hair,’ they continue as I politely refuse.

But it’s not that I’m not open to something new. Hell, I’ll give anything a go once. But I have done, and I’ve realised the hard way that I’m extremely allergic. As in ridiculously so.

Let me take you back to the days of my youth. Sunny days, happiness, and lots of lots of hair dye. In fact, I remember at one point I (intentionally) had my hair dyed three different colours at the same time. I was That cool.

Then, one dark and miserable evening, my (trainee hairdresser?) flatmate took out an evil box of black dye (of course it was that colour) to give me my third ‘new’ look that month. I was gorgeous.

At least until I went to sleep and brown ooze began to leak from my scalp. I woke to a filthy pillowcase, an itch I can’t describe, the beginnings of swelling all over my body and a LOT of tears from very red eyes.

I had entered hideous mode in the space of a few hours and my rankness continued to develop despite an emergency 24 hour intravenous drip.

Four weeks of steroids (to combat the allergy) later, I was a beast who couldn’t fit into any of her jeans and wouldn’t want to interact with society anyway as I had scales for skin from head to toe.  (Although I got to keep my hair in fairness)

The hair colour brand in question paid for my leave from work and my visits to a dermatologist who determined that it wasn’t the company's fault. It was official: Louise Kelly, you are now allergic to hair dye.

Years have rolled by and the horrific experience began to fade from memory. The brain has a funny way of playing tricks like that on you, doesn’t it?

But there have been reminders – apart from my friends and family who have begged me not to put them through that month plus of whining again of course.

Just before I went to Dingle a few years ago for an attempt at a half-marathon, I had my eyebrows waxed.  Of course they asked me did I want a dye (‘It’s only a vegetable dye’) but I cleverly declined.

Unbeknownst to me, however, the brush they used over my brows had some gloss on it. I spent the run – and the next three days – moping leakage from my brows so it didn’t run in my eyes. Attractive right?

And yet... and yet... I still hold out hope. Every haircut, every new stylist I repeat my story to, I think that maybe – just maybe – this new product will work.
I’ve passed the age that both my sister and my Mam sprouted grey hair so I am keenly aware that time is ticking on until an awkward predicament arises.
But no matter how much vehemence I pack behind my sordid tale, even the most experienced of colourists just don’t get the extent of my allergy.
Last week, my guy convinced me to have a patch test. ‘Your hair is so dull – it really needs a lift,’ he berated me. Grand so, I’ll be back in a week.
 
And I will do. Today. With a scabby, itchy arm that is only beginning not to look like I scorched it on a hot iron.

In case it’s not obvious from all of the above, I am very open to (relevant) suggestions. Shaving my head is not something I’m willing to go in for though. Yet.

My little sojourn in the UK wasn't ALL bad...

Seven steps to surviving couch surfing with Air bnb

STAYING in the quaint south UK county of Kent was, for me, enjoyable in the short-term with mid-week work trips to bustling London satisfying my thirst for city life.

Random bike ride in Kent

But when Irish friends came to visit, I had to think fast to find a somewhat more lively location – not too far from Canterbury – that would impress my peers more than the sleepy life of England’s ‘Garden’.

Luckily for me, the dates chosen for their visit fell on the August Bank Holiday weekend – and the Mod Festival was being widely advertised in the nearby seaside resort of Brighton. With the intention of getting to know the ‘real’ Brighton and really embedding ourselves in the Quadrophenia scene (read: we were on a budget) the decision was chosen to opt for Air bnb.  More funds would then be available for records, vintage clothes and memorabilia from the Mod generation, we thought, even if it meant scrimping on accommodation.

Little did we realise, however, how genuinely enjoyable, comfortable and friendly the Air bnb experience would be. Although it was a room in a stranger’s house, we immediately were made to feel at home, happy to grab the necessaries from the kitchen, jump into the shower and even share a drink in the garden before hitting Brighton town.

Widely acknowledged as the couch-surfing travel website, it’s far from sofas and armchairs where you head will lay at night.  The process was simple, the idea innovative and, of course, extremely cost-effective.  And for those who might feel a bit odd about letting a stranger into their own house, there is no obligation to return the gesture. 

The budget travel firm has agreements with homeowners in cities all across the globe, offering their spare room or holiday home to price-conscious jet setters interested in living where the ‘real’ city people live. I’ve also stayed at apartments in Stockholm and Berlin through Air bnb and I personally feel it minimises the overtly tourist vibe that’s attached to a stay with even the most obscure hotel.    

Brighton pier

Seven steps to surfing: 

1) The website is essentially fool-proof. Pop in the city you wish to head to and the dates you want to stay for. A list of prices (generally starting from the cheapest), accommodation image and host pictures will then appear in thumbnails down the page. Don’t ignore the first few entries on price alone – the cheapest ad simply means that it may be further away from the centre, or offers a single or shared bathroom. It may actually suit your needs better.

The Lady Garden...

2) Clicking on each ad will give you some more information of location, amenities and extras the placement will offer – like any other hotel or bnb booking. Air bnb hosts also generally a list of ‘house rules’ that will be applicable during the stay. Generally these will be quite tame, such as the standard no smoking outside, no extra visitors, clean up after yourself etc.

3) When you make your decision, your payment actually goes on hold as such. Your hosts will effectively get to review your ‘application’ before they are sure that you will be compatible house guests. You will get a mail saying that the site has “authorised your payment method for the full amount of the reservation” but “if your request is denied or expires, you will not be charged”.  On average, hosts respond pretty quickly, within hours,  and you are encouraged to send a personal note, commenting on their pictures or asking them questions about their home/location/local amenities.

4) When your ‘application’ for stay is accepted by your host, you will get an email receipt. This is usually accompanied by a note from your host in response, such as (actual message ) “Dear Louise I think you'll love Brighton and thanks for complimenting our house...looking forward to meeting you both, enjoy the Mods!”

Mod bikes

5) Just in case you’ve managed to delete all your previous mails and correspondence, you will get an email reminder with address/date details along with contact details for your host (s) about a week before you are due to stay at your location.  At this stage, feel free to post another note to your host to nail down specific arrival times or get some more information on what events are going on in the region over the course of your stay. (Or even if you don’t know whether you need to bring a towel!)

6) If you need to cancel: All ads will generally list their cancellation policy re refunds.  An example of a moderate policy is a full refund 5 days prior to arrival except for a nominal booking fee – better than many cancellation requirements.  The important thing is that you can find out what these fees and policies are prior to booking.

7) After the stay, similar to an eBay account, you can review your host to build up (or draw from) the strength of their profile on Air bnb. They can also review you too so that you look more attractive – or indeed, less appealing, to future air bnb hosts.

Renting may be a mug’s game - but someone’s got to do it.

Let me begin by confessing that I am a renter. 

Part of a growing clique of late twenties/early thirties Irish that have not succumbed to the draw of living abroad and have yet to sign their name on the biggest contract of their lives.

For the last decade, I have lived in umpteen houses across Dublin, with the exception of a not so brief stint in the UK.  Over the years, I have become somewhat of an expert in the art of location reassignment. A first class graduate from the school of ‘Large Bulky Items are my Foe’, if you will.

Fair enough, I don’t have a mortgage so I am not among the 100,000 that are falling deeper into arrears – nor indeed part of the rest of the homeowner population that struggle to meet their largest direct debit every month.

And even if I was looking to send myself to mortgage slaughter, the glimmer of hope that the overly optimistic few see as a recession-exiting sign – the gradual but distinct rise of house prices – is not exactly good news for me. 

But what this latest house move has highlighted is just how difficult renting in Dublin has become. Naturally, the costs have begun to climb as the property bubble is starting to expand again.  But there are more – many more – gripes that taint the moving renter’s life, of which I have time to name just a few before I get back to lugging boxes.

1) Price

My lovely - yet expensive - place I'm leaving

When the rent on your apartment rises by 25pc, you know it may be time to jump ship. Extortion I hear you say. Quite right; but when the law quite unhelpfully states that your new financial agreement is simply "the rent which a willing tenant not already in occupation would give and a willing landlord would take for the dwelling", you may be in a bit of a bind.

2) Parking/transport

Bit of a catch 22 here. Having a car to move all your belongings to their new home is almost essential – but finding a new abode, especially near the city, which actually lets you park this vehicle at no extra cost can prove rather difficult. Think annual parking permits and space rentals, if even available.

3) Estate Agents

I am sure there are some very lovely and capable agents out there but it has been my misfortune not to encounter any of them in these last few weeks. Between unanswered calls and emails, half-hearted viewings and blatantly rude conversations, I would be quite happy never to deal with an agency again. Chance would be…

4) False advertisements

Maybe different people have varying ideas of what ‘newly refurbished’, ‘large bedroom’, and ‘mod cons’ mean but I don’t think these concepts should be so far apart. Apart from the fact one house looked absolutely nothing like it was represented in the online pictures, the smell of urine was so overpowering that we couldn’t spend longer than 30 seconds in the place. And in that time, a cat (who may or may not have been responsible for the whiff) jumped out at us.

5) Packing

It went downhill from here

I like things to have their place. I might not go so far as alphabetising my CD collection (oldschool, I know) but I have definitely considered it. Nonetheless, after a few hours of folding and wrapping and stacking, I’ve had quite enough. Happily, I descend into the depths of ‘black sack land’ and chuck in whatever I can fit.

6) Cleaning

Last out turns off the lights and locks the door. In this case, cleans every inch of the apartment for fear our deposit won’t be returned. Now I will add to my confessions here by admitting that I do like a good cleanup – (refer also to anal weirdo in 5) – but when I won’t be staying to reap the benefits, the incentive wanes somewhat.  (And no I didn’t think of professionals until the very last minute)

7) Flatmates

Obviously, these can be quite the disparate bunch and you can really go in blind sometimes crossing your fingers that you haven’t shacked up with a psychopath or, god forbid, a morning person.  Luckily for me this time round, I’ve got an equally grouchy old pal to share the monthly rent with.

8) Neighbours

Again it’s really the luck of the draw on this one. With added security and gated properties comes curtain twitchers and disapproving glares the morning after the night before.  On the other hand, having to keep your bike inside for fear it will be nicked out of the back garden doesn’t give you a warm fuzzy feeling either.

All that being said I am quite looking forward to moving into our new home and making the house our own.  As we sit around our coal effect gas fire eating marshmallows from Tescos, we will breathe a sigh of relief and content that we have found the very best place there is.

My new castle!

At least until our lease is up in twelve months.

i hate dogs

Contrary to what the title of the blog suggests I don't actually hate dogs, but it sets the theme for my comments of the day. I'll aim to proceed in chronological order on this subject and see how well i get on. Im tired (of dogs) and I've already deviated from my point so Im not exactly hopeful of a clear blog here. Bear with me-animal pun not intended.

ANYWHO, it all started way back when I was a little lass. Being the youngest I was a bit of a spoiled brat and needed all the attention focussed on myself or it would be tantrum central. Then HE came along. A furry little creature called Max that came into our household and tried to steal my parent's love from me. He belonged to my sister who had no love for me anyway so I needed to take my revenge in the simple, psychotic way that little girls do. As I sat on the potty in the bathroom swinging my legs, I was singing away when a terribly genius idea came to me. I whistled for the loyal-til-death dog, who was oblivious to the fact that I never wanted to look at him, let alone whistle for him. In he bounded pushing open the bathroom door, and with only the agility of a four year old girl could do, I leaped from my position with a mid-air kung-fu style kick at the door and trapped the poor little thing's tail in the door.

So fast forward twenty odd years with many rodents and rabbits in between, my parents decide to go travelling for a few months and ask me to, not only mind their old persons love nest for them, but also the two mutts that come attached. Bearing in mind these dogs are like the only grandchildren the pair are going to have, and knowing my flaky history with pets (one of the mutts i think was mine once upon a younger year); it is beyond me why I was the 'obvious' choice. But I went along with the charade-no rent or flatmates for a while sounded ideal, and sure what was the odd walk or chucking a bit of food to the pets once in a while? How naive was I?

If I EVER have notions of popping out a sprog, it is not the inevitable stretchmarks and droopy boobies that will put me off, but a re-read of this blog and the reminder of the intense responsibility to care for a living being will do it. Not only do the two stare at me constantly watching for me to perform for them, they also demand to be rubbed to the point of hand cramp-very hard to do when they get extremely jealous of each other and theres only one of me. They have also mastered the art of making me feel guilty; so I have effectively turned into a fool. Dragged around an icy park at 730 on a Sunday morning, feeding them rashers at 130 on a Thursday night(I felt bad for leaving them in the cold all day), letting them toddle round the house with me as I do-not a good idea when weak/excited bladders are involved. My life revolves around them.

The cruncher came though when I returned from a trip away with my sister for a few days, and we asked a friendly neighbour to do the duties while we were gone. BAD IDEA. If I never knew what three day old dog poo smells like, I do now. Not only was it on the carpet(app neighbour didnt understand that upstairs was off limits:p) but it was also stuck to one of my lovely mongrels asses. An hr long mutt-shower involving two people, headlocks, many snarls, and a tube of bleach later, I was traumatised for life.

My friend asks me to come for dinner-'I cant I'm walking the dogs I say' in disgust. 'I hate dogs' he says in jest and we arrange to meet the following day. On arrival for some well deserved grub and vino the next day, my mate's door remains unanswered to my knock. Upon ringing to question the reason why I have been stranded in the cold, my dinner buddy has gone looking for his puppy that has escaped through the garden fence. An hour long charade ensues involving a crawling car, many questions of whereabouts shouted through open window, and uncharacteristically highly nervous passenger next to me looking for his lost mutt. It ends where it began and the dog is found in the neighbour's garden, but the damage had been done and my mate can never pull off his hardcore unemotional side with me again. We comment on the karma effect of the previous day's comment, and I wonder about all the complaining I've done re the pair I've left at home that evening. Not only have I grudgingly grown to care for the stupid things but my life wouldn't be worth living if my parents came back to even a slight change in personality of one of them.

I've got to go. You guessed it. Park here I come... whistle whistle.

say my name

Lately several schoolfriends/colleagues/relatives of mine have tied the knot or are at least playing with the rope anyway, and one subject that seems quite prevalent is the question of taking their future loved ones name. I ask the question: what difference does it make? I hear these cries of wanting to remain the same person and keeping onto some semblance of individuality and personality, but the bottom line is, from now on you will be known was 'them'. Regardless of what your second name will be, you will only be indicated by or asked to-wait for it-dinner parties in the form of 'jenny and gary', 'bobby and frankie', 'john and sarah'. You will have no seperate identity, you will merge into one, boring lump of greyness that does not need a second name to define itself because marriage already does by proxy. Any previous quirks or characteristics that made you feel unique will melt away under the pressure of being as close to your soulmate as possible ie drowning in a sea called average. Ok so Im a marriage basher. But let me defend myself-it is not that I dont believe in love or spending quite a good bit of time with someone even (gasp) years, but people grow apart naturally over time so whats the point in committing to someone when it would be a lot easier to drift away and towards someone you found more interesting/compatible/sexier/treated you better at that point in your life. Whats the point in 'working on' some relationship that has died years ago just because you've always been known as one name connected with your lover's? Theres a reason for videos and sketches like the below

www.youtube.com/watch?v=DTlqgpA0GSk



PEOPLE GET BORED. whether they admit it or not. At least those who take their partners name without a second thought know what they're signing up for and fully accept the situation-or of course, they may be too foolish to realise the implications either way.

Which leads me to another thing...

This mid-twenties explosion of wedding bell ringers leads me to the conclusion that people think you 'should' get married at a certain age just because thats 'whats done'. They have been together for four, six, eight years and its time. Time for what??!! What do you do then? Surely theres more to life than being mr and mrs(or mr and mr/mrs and mrs as the case may be) Im not saying promiscuity or fickleness or a hardened heart is the way to go, but when the bright lights and champagne and holiday frolics are over-what do you have to look forward to then?

A lifetime of adaption, 'give and take'? Nothing would depress me more than losing a part of myself to make a relationship continue on in a land far, far away from the world in which you both fell in love with each other. What about this for food for thought?

http://www.askthecomputerwizard.com/blair/images/page%20171/Married%20Life.jpg

ok rant over. Anyone for tennis?

lazy hairdressers?

So I decided to get the gruaig cut today and not for the first time was extremely pissed off by the lack of attention I got from my hair 'technician'. Now I know we may all have a bad day at the office/salon-but a bit of focus considering I'm paying 60e and an extra 'voluntary' tip wouldn't go astray. Mirror-watching my hair being severed by a person staring at other colleagues/punters does not make for a joyous experience. After recently finding out that there are 'keeping customer content and comfortable' exams in hairdressing school, I'm only more frustrated. The end result wasn't the worst though, and I did spill a cup of coffee on the floor so maybe I'm being a little harsh.