Where I dream of being Barbie and plan a birdie blind date

8.35am
Hair dresser has dyed hair magic marker pink. No no, not mine, hers. She looks very pretty, in a Disney fairy sort of way (I would look like escapist from Rocky Horror Show).
"How is book, is it still going," she asks.
"Oh, it's still going," I say but do not add "straight onto the skip."
As always, visit to Salon will be  a compromise between what I want and what I can have. My hair is thin and mouse and every six weeks my magician of a hairdresser has to create illusion of it being blonde and thick.  Hmmmm, drift off while hair is being shampooed and have vision of self  as California Barbie, (or California Barbie's Mum. OK, OK, her Gran then, whose vision is this anyway?)  I'm swishing luxuriant waist length, golden blonde tresses, of the type you comb with a sea shell or plait and hang out of a tower. Lovely.
"Do you want conditioner?" Trainee asks ruining the moment.  I wake up and look in mirror. Aaargh! If you can imagine Hilary Clinton crossed with Miss Piggy your'e right on the ball, or you're sitting next to me.
"So what are we doing today?" Says hairdresser optimistically, trying to get comb through my hair. She manages to part it in the middle and attempts to comb it down at sides but it sticks out and looks like a thatched roof.
We agree on highlights, as I now have more dark root than blonde hair. Lots of bits of foil are applied all over head, dye is skilfully lashed on and I am put under heat lamp, which is  turned up to gas mark 10 'to help colour take.'
"I'll bring you some magazines and a cup of tea." She says.
Feeling a hot flush coming on, I want to say "I'd sooner have Factor 50, two litres of water and and sun glasses," but actually say "super."
I read back issues of 'Hello' as temperatures approach 1,000 degrees and face goes scarlet and glossy, like red delicious apple. Just about to expire when hand undoes foil and voice says "perfect, all done! You can come out now," like loopy chef talking to Sunday roast.
Somehow conversation turns to Monty and budgies.
"Budgies may be going to Scotland," I say "Daughters are getting new flat and will have room for their feathered boys."  I sip tea, sweating. "Problem is Monty will be lonely."
"Oh, well that's a coincidence. One of our stylists is looking to have her parrot adopted as she is out all day and has to leave it alone." Hairdresser says snipping away,  " I'll just give her a shout."
To cut long story to blog length, I'm amazed to find it is an African Grey, same species as Monty and better still it's a girl. Make a plan  to speak to The Husband as soon as possible about birdie blind date.