The Hair on our Heads

We all have it - at least we all had it. I do not know anyone who is happy with their hair. If it's straight, the owner would kill for curls. If it's curly then only poker straight will do. Ever the way. Other man's grass.

Because we have hair, a massive multi-billion dollar industry has developed. Shampoo, conditioners, gells, serums, mousses, masks, hairsprays, anti- frizz products, dyes of every possible colour and more - all exist essentially so that you can change what nature has given you.

From the age of 16 I have been dying my hair. My natural colour is medium brown. Sadly now, medium brown with plenty of grey.  I began my hair dying career with an enticing package called Hint of a Tint. Because at the age of 16 I knew everything, including how long I should keep the purple mixture on my hair,  I decided that ten minutes was not enough, as stated on the instructions, and that half an hour was really what they had intended to say.  It was a mistake. My hair was the colour of cherries. That would not have been so bad for a 16 year old today, where any colour goes and we are so used to seeing rainbow colours, but this was a few decades prior to contemporary teenagers, so I had to shampoo my hair many times, many times. My forehead was purple as were my temples. Hint of a Tint. Not so much a hint as a definite instruction.

Next came Harmony. I believe this one was a permanent hair dye, unlike Hint of a Tint. Again, I knew best. Now though I was at university and even then, in the late seventies ideas about hair colour were becoming liberated. I ended up with an intense mahogany colour, which I really liked. It was probably my favourite ever hair colour, and I have known a few.

For a while I dispensed with hair dye and my colour changer of choice became peroxide - neat peroxide applied with a ball of cotton wool directly onto my hair. How my hair did not just fall out, I do not know. I continued doing this for three whole years.

Bored with blond I decided to use henna - natural henna. You could buy it from health shops, which were new things. Henna was sold in plastic bags. It was green powder and it had to be mixed with warm water. The smell was earthy, wood like, not really the desired scent for hair. The bathroom would take a hit too. So much to clear up. Weeks later I would spot a blob of henna somewhere in the bathroom, which made me feel guilty because at that time I was sharing a house with six other people.

Later, Nice'n Easy became my dye of choice and regularity. It continues to be so. In between applications of Nice'n Easy I sometimes go to the hairdresser's to have a 'full head' as the term goes.

Some say you can tell much about the image a person is trying to project by how they wear their hair. There is something in that, I'm certain. A precise, perfectionist is unlikely to have a mane of flowing hair, any more than a free spirited, loving the outdoors type, who lives off the land is likely to have a neat, precise no hair out of place, Mrs. Thatcher style, wouldn't move in a force nine gale, head of hair.

This leaves me to wonder that if we do, at least to an extent, choose how we have our hair, then why does the current Chancellor of the Exchequer imitate Caesar Augustus?

I no longer ...... That which I can no longer tolerate.

I believe I'm a pretty tolerant person. Having taught for 30 years I think I could claim that I've  experienced many different types of people. Apart from a very few, there was something redeemable in all of them - hence my justification to the claim of being a being a tolerant person.

Though it might seem rather grand, I would like to start with Schopenhauer, the German philosopher,  1788- 1860. Because he says it so well I am going to borrow his words on a topic I feel very strongly about and that is our treatment of animals. I can no longer bear to be in the company of someone who doesn't care about animals. Here goes Schopenhauer,

'Compassion for animals is intimately connected with goodness of character and it may be confidently asserted that he who is cruel to animals cannot be a good man.' 

Exactly! (Of course he means women too but in those days they always used the male person. We'll forgive him).

Also, I can no longer be bothered to try to make those who clearly don't like me, start to like me. I'm done - your loss. Arrogant? Maybe, but that is the truth of how I feel.

I can no longer bear to be in the company of those who are so keen to be perceived as politically correct that they ignore or deny the fact that gangs of Pakistani men groom, then sexually abuse young white girls. They do! The denial is cowardice and it prolongs the torture of the girls who, some say, have lost everything. They are empty shells after the abuse. They have no trust in the authorities as they have been ignored by the vey people who should have been protecting them.

I can no longer bear to listen to the unfounded nonsense some people (women) splurge, about how women are superior to men. It may be fashionable to say so, but to genuinely think that all women are superior to all men is patently stupid. As Doris Lessing said, 'It is now acceptable for the most stupid woman to insult the most intelligent and kind man.'

I can no longer bear to listen to those who trot out the party line unthinkingly. All disclaim racism, which is fine, except that, if the racism is towards Israeli Jewish then bizarrely, it is acceptable. It is as if there is an acceptability in 'hating' the Jews if they hail from Israel. Say what? Quite - nonsense.

I can no longer bear the attitude of people who do not believe in second chances, especially when the offender is young. I have met, in all my years in the classroom, no one who does not deserve a second chance. People change and often those who were the worst behaved, are those who, when given a second chance, make the most of that chance.

 There will be more of this, but, for now, I'll stop. (Need to allow my blood pressure to fall).

The Tragedy of some Animals' Lives

I am a relative latecomer to an awareness of animal abuse - abuse that humans inflict on animals. Without Twitter or Facebook I doubt I would have seen the horrors that I have seen and sometimes wish I hadn't seen.

Social media then, opens up the world and allows us to see so much that we wouldn't, in the natural way of things, have seen. We are able to see some of the beauty of our planet but it is not that to which I wish to draw people's attention.

What I have seen, I cannot unsee.  Those images are with me constantly now. The worst horrors that I have witnessed are those which animal activists have posted on to the internet. They include unconscionable scenes from China of bludgeoning dogs almost to death, then ripping off their skins while the dogs are still conscious. The dogs are stored by the hundred in net style cages. They are unable to move, dogs are piled on top of dogs. Many of the dogs have been stolen and were once family pets. The wait for slaughter can be several days. The dogs are neither fed, nor given water, at any time during their wait. Already, having been kidnapped, the dogs are traumatised. Seeing other dogs brought out of the netting cages, bludgeoned with hammers, chopped at, often with blunt knives, then having their skin ripped off, while still not dead, can only be the very worst of human cruelty.

As I write, the sound in the killing place is turned off. Can you then imagine the sounds of distress - the squeals, brought about by the traumatised dogs' utmost fear.  Can you smell the blood? Animals are keenly aware of blood, for their own protection and in the wild for their survival.

Some dogs are simply plunged into cauldrons of water - alive. They scrabble in desperation to reach the top of the cauldron but are callously shoved back in. It is to be hoped that death comes mercifully quickly.

Maybe, if you do something over and over again, even killing, it is the case that you become resistant, immune to suffering. Some people say that the dogs that are being killed are just that - dogs. They don't feel, they are just animals and therefore wholly dispensable. But. If you have ever owned a dog you KNOW categorically that your dog has a soul, that your dog has feelings, emotions, that your dog feels sadness and joy. You KNOW.

Often I wish I did not know about this cruelty. That way I would not feel like crying when images flood my head. It can catch you unaware, just as grief can, often many years after the loved one's death.  Nor do I want to know that my fellow human beings can behave in that way, so routinely, so callously and cruelly, without an iota of concern for sentient beings.

But worse, much worse is the knowledge that the dogs see other dogs killed right there in front of them. They know what's coming to them. They will experience such distress, torture and devastating anguish - and there is nothing I can do about it.

It is enough to make the angels weep.