What began as a peaceful 4 day Dublin shopping frenzy, ended in dreadlock massacre as, 10 days before my one year dreadlock anniversary, Antonia finally had enough of having a hippy for a sister and with a mad glint in her eye proceeded to chop the life essence from my head 1/84th at a time (Prize time: I’ll send one original dreadlock to anyone who can tell me what that is in percentage). I went from scraggly dread-locked hippy
, to 13 year old skater-boy , to homeless lady who chops her own hair with a plastic knife she found in the McD’s rubbish bin (No really Tonia, it wasnt that bad) in a matter of hours – six hours over two days.
And I was left with a mountain of hair. If one human loses on average approximately 100 hairs per day, and I had dreadlocks for 355 days, and all those lost hairs remained entangled on my head….well you do the math. Thats a lotta hair. I considered putting my dreads on ebay and making a fortune but decided in the end that Id rather just have fun with dreadlock dolly.
Luckily Dublin is hairdresser central and I got myself tidied up the next day. There seem to be two types of hairdressers in this world: those from the mega-poofball school of thought, and those from the body-is-evil school. This hairdresser was from the latter as most of the younger hairdressers seem to be. So I came out of there with hair as straight as a nail. As straight as a nail that hasnt been bent. Which was all well and good except that two days later when I had to wash my hair I ended up looking like a human cotton ball. A brunette cottonball – in other words, ‘poof’. I guess I should stick with the mega-poofball hairdressers in future – at least then Id end up with an attractive poofball cut. Im just destined to be a poofball.
Aside from losing my soul, I got around fifty solid shopping hours in with Antonia, and came back to the hostel with a bag full of…nothing, somehow. Liam meanwhile went to work and managed to get a piece of wall stuck in his eye and so, unfortunately was unable to join us – a likely story.
After a few days back at the hostel recovering from the shock of Dublin christmas overload, I came crawling back, repulsed yet strangely compelled by the bright shiny lights and decadent spending lifestyle of the city under its christmas spell. And so again, I have spent the last two days being carried along by the pulsing throngs of christmas mad shoppers.
Street vendors selling cheap imitations and ‘two packs of batteries for a fiver’ verbally advertise their products – what exactly those products are I would never know to hear them shout with my untrained ear – though I definitely know one guy is selling ‘two packs of batteries for a fiver’. It was recently suggested that Dublin streets need a slow lane for all the grannies so they dont hold up the rest of us. I couldnt agree more – for their own safety (though they seem able to fend for themselves as proven yesterday when I had a walking stick stuck out infront of me to block my path – that guy wasnt gonna stop for nobody).
Maybe Dublin city could also provide me with a plastic bubble so I dont have to deal with cigarette smoke being blown in my face everywhere I walk. And everyone should have a personal shopper so we dont actually have to deal with the madness, and the personal shoppers could have robots to do their shopping. Or maybe we should just forget Christmas altogether and ‘dont buy presents, how about giving your money to the homeless instead’ as one collector (for the homeless) was heard to say this morning. All very well but Christmas aint nothing without presents – oh and love and fellowship of man, and frankincense and myrrh too. Merry Christmas everyone, hope Santi (thats Irish Santa) brings you just what you want. (I asked for a cure for poofy hair).