Today is hairdresser day. No, that implies it's National Be Nice to Your Hairdresser Day or some similar ceremonial recognition of the Teazy Weazies; I just mean I am going to get my barnet attended to with the endeavour of becoming less grey and more presentable for the Student son's graduation ceremony tomorrow. I only tell you this because I hate, absolutely loathe, going to the hairdressers - a bit like the dentist. I am sure it's going to hurt. Actually, nobody is cutting anything today; it's just an episode of Roots.
The Student is on work experience at a big film corporation. After arriving an hour early (keen you know), he spent the day sitting around waiting to see the man with whom he had an appointment only to discover he was on holiday, then the rest of it unloading a van. This is not exactly why he has a degree in cinematography. And he has a cold. He was initially rather cross at having to miss a day of this work experience in order to attend his graduation but I wasn't going to be deprived of my opportunity to be a proud mother. (I'm thinking back to junior shepherd in the infant school nativity play with tissues handy.) The film people didn't mind him skiving and I think now he's not too fussed either. Mr Smith thinks it's a right pain in the pants and harps on about how his parents didn't come to his graduation. This is probably because he went to a polytechnic in the West Country and was the youngest in his family of four graduates; the novelty had probably worn off by then. We also have to pay to attend which is the real reason he doesn't want to go. I paid for the kit hire and family mug shots - hence my trip to the hairdressers.
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