Tales of catastophe, sex and squalor from the Alpine Underbelly...

Belle de Neige

Wednesday, 20 January 2010

Hair

Hair. I'd like to talk about it. The amount some people shed is both intolerable and fascinating. Hairs are like toenail clippings and grandparents. You don't mind your own but other people's are revolting and you don't want them anywhere near you and especially not your food. Some marriages are made in heaven. Smoked salmon and avocado, for example. Strawberries and cream. Chas and Dave. Others are not. Rum and raisin. A hellish idea. Charles and Diana. Hair and food. Wong dot com.

For the above reasons, clearing up after children in a chalet is a dream come true as the little darlings haven't yet sprouted. They do leave the most appalling skid marks though.

However adults are another story. They seem to spend their entire time either shedding like a mangey St Bernard or harvesting crops of body hairs from god knows where. If you're not scraping a film of minute, freshly cropped sproutings from the side of the bath, or untangling long slimy hairs interlaced with goo, secretions and excretions from the plug hole, you're sweeping heaps of unidentified strands from the bathroom floor. Either the nanny staying in our chalet has alopecia or extremely long pubes. I could stuff a mattress with it. Seriously.

So next time you're staying in a hotel / chalet / catered accomodation, spare a thought for the poor mite scrabbling around on her hands and knees in your bathroom in the morning, collecting together your deposits.

I might start some kind of museum.

...à bientôt

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