Stop press. My hairdresser has left Brussels.
I found out the other night from a friend who also gets – used to get – her hair cut by him. I couldn't believe it. How could he leave? How could he leave without warning? He's been cutting my hair for 5 years. Both Clover and Helsinki adore him, Clover because he let her cut her sister's hair (a bit, in the back) one time, and Helsinki because he gave her a bright pink streak (temporary) for her birthday last year. I am gutted, feel completely abandoned on the hair front. We were supposed to be growing it out. We had a plan. He was going to fix me up in a couple of months once I generated some length. So what am I supposed to do now? I was counting on him!
Well, obviously, now I've got to find someone else to pick up the pieces and let me tell you, it took me ages to find him, the leaver, the bastard, Brussels is a crap place for haircuts and now I'm right back where I was 6 years ago, only far less prepared to gamble with my hair. Bastard. Double-bastard. You could at least have said good-bye and given me a referral.