From bleak to sleek

Crying. Whining. Whinging. Complaining. Moaning. Girning.

Just some of the things occurring in our household over the past few months. What can I say? These continuous noises of complaint coming from the mouths of my children do not make for excellent blog posts. Of course there have been other events, but well, maybe it's all a symptom of my repatriation sickness, but well, nothing really has seemed very blog worthy. I'm more than a little bit bored.

There's been the snow of course. My children's school situated in one of the peaks of the Peak district where the snow was pretty much targeting was determined to stay open providing all the parents with lovely heart-in-mouth journeys to drop off and collect their kids. On one particularly frightening return trip I nearly had to pull over just to be sick: well I would have had I not suspected the huge articulated lorry driving no more than a foot behind me the whole way downhill would have plowed right into the rear of my car killing both my children. The next time it snowed, I lied and said I had tried but couldn't get through the traffic to get the kids to school. While the rest of England closed it's schools, they told me to try again in an hour. Presumably when the fire and ambulance services had cleared all the accidents, crashes, etc leaving my path clear to plough through.

Orla turned 6 at the end of March. She had a great time, and all the grandparents came down to visit for a few days, but I can't shake the feeling that it's significant that I barely took a photo over her birthday weekend. In fact I feel like I have barely taken a photo in the past 3 months. Which is very unlike me.

I did take a photo of this though.



Finally, Orla got her hair cut. It has looked a straggly mess for a while. She's wanted to grow it long, but she has a penchant for chewing the ends off any bits that stray into her mouth. A disgusting habit that has resulted in her eating herself a mullet. I let her keep it long until after her birthday, but then booked her in to get it all chopped. I think she looks much better, much tidier. And there was none of the disappointment and tears that I was expecting And that's about it. All my news. I need an adventure!

Adventures in Groupon: Like I just stepped out of a salon

Forgive me this sudden attack on your eyesight.

It's not often I force my giant face on here, but the thing is, I've been Groupon-ed.

We've been going a wee bit Groupon mad lately. A meal here and there. Late night bowling with disco lights hooked up to the equalizer. And of course I went to Loxx Miniatur Welten with Sarah a while back, and we got a taste for saving money, or a taste for spending it on things you probably wouldn't otherwise yet thinking you've got a bargain. Our adventures in Groupon are set to continue with a meal in the dark restaurant. God help us. Everyone says it's rotten. It's a total tourist venue. Let me describe it: you are served by a blind waiter, and you eat in total darkness, the premise being that you 'experience' the food more. From the reports I have heard, your clothes also get to experience the food more. And the food isn't meant to be that great. But still I am looking forward to it. I think we'll have a lot of fun. Especially trying to take photos. Don't tell Sarah, but I am totally going to make sure I don't need the toilet before we go because I don't fancy having to take the waiter with me. I've already been pre-warned that when you enter you have to hold on to the waiter's shoulders to get to your table. My plan is to hang back and let Sarah cling to the waiter. Like I say, I think it'll be fun.

We also have a trip booked to go up in the Die Welt hot air balloon. It doesn't do much, just goes up, as it's tethered to the ground, hangs about for a bit, then it's back down. But as you might have guessed, this really is us treating our cameras to an outing. It's nice to have a friend to share these moments with. Especially a friend who doesn't say "Seriously, can you not do anything without a camera stuck to your face?"

Which might explain my Groupon haircut. See above for details. I have a wonky fringe. Or rather I have one side with long chunks in it. I noticed it at the time and said to the hairdresser about it, and she trimmed a half centimetre off it. Then I said again, and she trimmed it a bit again, but not so much that I didn't come home, scowl into the camera, and then straighten it up myself.

Incidentally, I am utterly rubbish at complaining at the hairdressers. I know that. This was me doing my best to say "I am not happy with my fringe: sort it". She also told me what a gorgeous colour my hair is. I laughed. I thought it was a hairdresser's joke. As the last time I was at this same hairdressing salon I decided to go dark. Except that it washed out after 4 washes and the result is not entirely unfashionable, but unintentional ombre hair. Overall, I'd say my hair is the colour of pine furniture from the 80's. It makes me shudder with embarrassment. My hairdresser says it's "just lovely". Well, this is Berlin after all.


My other Groupon adventures:
Unsicht-bar - eating in the dark restaurant
Panoramapunkt - sightseeing from the top of Kollhof Tower.
Die Welt hot air balloon - sightseeing from Berlin's famous hot air balloon
Loxx Miniatur Welten - Mini Berlin with trains in the Alex shopping centre

Wow! You look good for your age!

Or the one where Stevie discovers the secret to feeling good about his receding, greying hairline.


Stevie has a thing about his age. Or rather not so much about his age, as he happens to feel like a 20 year old who wouldn't mind meeting the boys for a few beers and then stopping off at a few hip joints to check out the other 20 year olds. But the thing is, while he feels like he is still in the prime of his youthful 20's, about once every few months he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror, and sees how the +15 years have ravaged his hairline. It's the only time you'll see him a little sad.

A few years ago he used to not be able to see the grey bits which tended to stay hidden until it was time for a haircut. And he definetly could not see his balding patch at the back at the top, and of course being the loyal, loving girlfriend I am, I certainly never pointed it out. In fact, I was the one who coloured it in with a grey felt tip while he slept, all the little greying hairs jumping ship from his head to his pillow as I worked.

Every so often he takes out his old work pass and compares the photo with the one on his new German one. And he sighs. For hair at the front of his head that has long gone, never to return. Does he secretly think of growing a fringe, I wonder? I know he has frightening thoughts first of all about bleaching it all (why? how could that possibly help matters?) and then calms down and considers Just For Men.

But today, he feels great. He is a man with more hair than he thinks he should have. He looks superb, fantastic, handsomely hirsute. The reason being that today he lied about his age. Someone on his football team asked him how old he was, and he said a lie just came out. He told them he was 46. And they said "Wow! That's amazing!". Of course they were referring to his athletic ability on the football pitch, but he's also surmising that he looks great for 46. And so he should, seeing as he's only 35.

Only her hairdresser knows for sure.

From now on I will mostly be appearing at a funny angle with a mop and bucket over my left shoulder.

Because I'm worth it

So as you can see I got my hair done. I quite like it, but I am frustrated that I can't seem to get out of 'short-hair-hell'. I have very limited options with it this length, but then that's what happens when you go and do this.

Anyway, here's how it went. Did I tell you that there seem to be a fair number of British women here who seem fearful of going to German hairdressers? Well, so far I have met quite a few who go 'home' to get their hair done, and my last hairdresser in the UK told me that she had a client who came back to get hers done. It seems like a very expensive haircut if you have to include flights.

Now I know I mentioned the fact that haircuts are miles cheaper here than in the UK and that I would be taking full advantage of that while here... well it would appear that that is not the case, in my particular case. Somehow I manage to seek out the most expensive hairdresser in the area. I am not entirely sure how I manage this, but I am so experienced that I now manage to mask my horror at the tillpoint when they tell me the 3 figure sum.

YOU READ THAT CORRECTLY. But go on read it again and have another gasp. I think I managed to save about £10 on what I ha, ha, ha, pay in the UK (and I got a treatment into the bargain), but it turns out that my handy little hairdresser that looked quite nice from the outside is an ex- Vidal Sassoon stylist and Vogue photography shoot stylist.

So in case you were wondering why I am looking into the camera at a funny angle in the top photo well, that's because that apparently is my 'best side' and I should ALWAYS appear this way. I imagine that will cause a few difficulties in my day to day life as I try to position myself to be seen at my best advantage at Kaiser's meat counter and as I emerge from the toilets at the zoo to the waiting paparazzi.

I really enjoyed myself though at the salon. I loved the fact that the trainee quickly assessed the fact that I couldn't really speak German and switched the big pile of German magazines in front of me for a big pile of English ones (I was sold from that point to be honest). I got lots of interesting hair care tips and a bundle of Sebastian samples to take home, and the hairdresser instead of talking rubbish about holidays and what I don't do for a living gave me her analysis of Naomi Campbell's appearance in court from her body language and a break down of how her outfit had been styled to match exactly the traits that she was trying to portray, to how well trained she had been in what she was saying. Of course my life is a news void, so I had very little to say on the matter except that perhaps Naomi Campbell appeared so poised in court because she has had so much practice.

On a side topic of hair, I am currently reading a book called 'What the dog saw' by Malcolm Gladwell. Malcolm Gladwell is a writer for The New Yorker, and this book covers a variety of everday things and looks at them from a different angle. I'm finding it really interesting. He talks about how problems like homelessness might be easier to solve rather than manage and what goes on with the brain that gives us the difference between panicking and choking. My favourites so far have been 'Why there are dozens of varieties of mustard but only one of ketchup' and 'What hair dye can tell us about the 20th century'. It's all about how attitudes towards hair dying have altered over the course of the century and the two main players who made this a possibility. Anyway, if you come across it, have a look through it and you might just fancy it. (Also if you would like to pay the absolute maximum price you ever possibly could for it, send me an email I seem to have a knack for this kind of thing)

You're going, whether you like it or not!

My Kita search is over. Isn't it lucky that I amn't an overly picky sort and have no idea whether there are anything even similar to OFSTED reports over here? I got a phone call from Claudia at the relocation company to say that she has searched high and low to find another nursery that could take Orla and Hamish and has only come up with one other one, a bilingual one, that's quite far away, and actually only has space for one of my children. I couldn't decide whether I should still go and see it. I am worried that I might love it, that's the trouble. Normally, there's nothing I like better than sitting, mulling over which of my children I love best, but in this instance I think I would prefer that they at least both went to the same place.

I have also received my Gutschein - the voucher that you need to take to your nursery of (no) choice. It is a lengthy document and I understood very little of it, but have found out that we have been awarded half days which means 4-5 hours Monday to Friday. I also managed to find a concise 29 page pdf on the Berlin city website. Turns out that this is the minimum that we could have expected. Now all I need to do is make sure that I could get to my language class and back within my alloted Kita hours. You can apply for extra time, but I would be happier if they weren't in Kita all day anyway. It would be nice though if there was a little bit of flexibility for say times when I have hospital appointments, but I am not sure that it is possible with this system.

And in other news, I am getting my highlights done this afternoon, and possibly I might have agreed to a cut. I don't really need a cut but I read something about this place that said that they assess all sorts of factors from your bone structure to your something else and decide what would suit you best. I am a great one for going to a hairdresser and saying "do whatever you like", so this is right up my street. And actually, the salon is right up my street so that settled my decision. I may be away from my blog for a few weeks after this, crying and hiding under a hat...

Hair-do Hotspot

One of the cheapest things you can get in Berlin is a haircut. It's massively cheap compared to the UK. I read in one of our guidebooks that a haircut in Tony & Guy here would cost only 19 Euros compared to around £40 in the UK. A cut in Vidal Sassoon is only 49 Euros and as the guide book says "they maintain the same high standards as they do worldwide".

I had been a bit apprehensive about German haircuts before I came here. The last time I got my haircut before I came here the stylist said that one of her clients comes back to Derby to get her hair done because she doesn't like German hairdressers. That's a pretty expensive cut, and I would never have thought of Derby as the hair hotspot of Europe.

But when I read the bit on pricing in the guidebook, well hey, I'm willing to try anyone if they're offering reasonably priced highlights. Of course though, I'm not daft, I've done my German hairdressing experimentation with the kids first! Actually, Hamish was in dire need of a trim and was looking a bit mullet-y (and altogether fitting in far too well) and I'd already bribed Orla with Smarties to let me trim her fringe.

We just happened to be in KaDeWe having a look round when we came across the childrens' hairdressers on the 3rd floor. It's great! It's just like the place I took them to in Derby where they can sit on motorbikes and watch cartoons, except this place doesn't have the strange Johnny Depp weirdo doing the hair. I think it suffers just a little because of that. Anyway, I managed to book them in and although they had a joint appointment, Hamish managed to fall asleep just in time, so we re-booked him in for yesterday.

As usual my extensive high school German enabled me to ask for precisely what I wanted - listen to this: "A la Amelie, ein Filme mit Audrey Tatou, ja?". In case you're in any doubt, this was for Orla. I think that it covers it nicely. Or it would have if any of the hairdressers had seen the film or knew the actress. So I gestured with my hands sweeping, sharp, lines.

I was more than a little worried that I didn't have any male actors in mind for Hamish's cut. I also don't like boys haircuts that are just shaved all over. Somehow, quite how, I'm not sure, I managed to get what I wanted across, and I think both cuts worked out really well. Now if only they could do my highlights....

Good haircut day!

I took the kids to get their haircut yesterday to a place highly recommended by some friends. When I say highly recommended, well, there's always a bit of a funny look on their face at the same time. I've been told about this place and how amazing they are with kids by three different friends. Then they tell you 'Oh, but he's a man' in a kind of 'Don't you think that's a little bit weird?' way. Then they expand on this by saying 'You never get him on the phone, but you can leave a message and he's always really good at getting back to you'...'but his answer machine message is a woman's voice. I think there's a reason for that, don't you?'. Then they go on enthusiastically to tell you how amazing he is with the kids; he's got toys; he doesn't pressure the kids time-wise, they can take their time getting used to the place; he will put on their favourite dvd to watch; they can sit in this little car chair; he makes them really calm, etc, etc. This guy is a miracle worker. He can even cut the hair of those kids for whom this experience would normally be akin to watching a cat on a lead. Amazing.

Then they tell you, 'Oh but he's a bit odd', or 'He's really strange'. The reason he's a bit odd is that he is obviously a big fan of Johnny Depp and Tim Burton and has lots of posters of them or their films around his walls. I had been told by one that he models himself on Johnny Depp, but he certainly wasn't for our visit. He was modelling himself on someone who seriously works out and could crack open walnuts in his biceps were they not to slip out given the enormous amount of fake tan he was wearing. One friend (who would use him again) said 'Oh yes, he's really weird. I'm sure he's a paedophile. There's got to be something going on with him.' Ha, ha, I don't think he is. He said (unprompted) that I had a really good cut and my hair really suited me, so of course I think he's totally great. And I love the kids hair!

bad haircut day

The ball-shaped blow-dry had died down by this stage, and at this point it just looks like a rubbish hair cut.

I don't know if it's my hair I don't like, or whether I have gone off my face. But I am not too happy. I am pretty dreadful at getting my hair cut on a regular basis, and always feel incredibly uneasy when they ask "When did you last get it cut?". Squirm, squirm, shuffle in my seat. Let me think, possibly 6 months ago?? Eek! When I do get it cut I seem to pay an extortionate sum for a cut and highlights so I figure it balances out and saves me having to find a cheaper hairdresser that I like as much.

What I like about my hairdresser is that she is brave enough to do what I ask her to. Today I had no fixed ideas apart from getting rid of my massively long fringe that I've had to start wearing a clasp to keep from blinding me and it served to give me a kind of hideous 'year book' look. Oh and I needed my colour sorted out. Stevie said my hair was the colour 'a middle aged woman would dye hers'. Full of compliments, so he is. But it's bad if he's having to say that.

So my hairdresser gives me a hair magazine and I find a picture I like. Unfortunately the picture is of Erin O'Conner. A look that I am not going to be able to recreate unfortunately, but I am sure my fine, straight hair could be persuaded into some kind of resemblance to hers. So that's what I ask for. What I get is more along the lines of Myra Hindley. Or a motorcycle helmet. A nicely highlighted motorcycle helmet, but still. Why do they dry it into a ball shape? Of course I said it was just what I wanted and that I loved it, but inside, well I wouldn't say I was crying. I was kind of sniggering at my own stupidity and laughing at what a mistake I'd made. Oh dear.

Oh and of course I kept the long blinding fringe, but I think the colour is different.