A group of Hairy Tales

So I want to talk about hair please. I just had my hair cut and it went in a fairly standard manner. This time. It got me thinking though of all the hair related adventures I have been on and I thought it was only fair I made you hear about them. Here they are listed in the order in which they come out of my memory...

1. The time I was thrown away from the hairdressers...
One day, me ol' Mum took me and Ja Ja (miniature Hannan) to the hairchoppers to get all spruced up. Probably it was the summer holidays. We were children then, and sometimes we got to sit in the children's chair which was usually in the shape of an aeroplane or racing car. So I was sitting in the cool racing car getting my hair combed when the hairdresser stopped combing, turned to my Mum and said "I am afraid I cannot continue. THIS CHILD has headlice"...

HOW embarrassing. Mum rushed us both out of the shop and filled a turban up with that headlice shampoo to get rid. Even now, I sit with my hands gripping the chair, my eyes flitting nervously around the room, trying to avoid eye contact in the mirror waiting to hear those immortal words... "I cannot continue. This woman has headlice!" It hasn't happened since then though so I really shouldn't worry.

2. The time my inability to say 'no' caused a problem with me' barnet...
I was a younger Hannan but not a child. That awkward bit in the middle of grown up and grown down when you're not sure where to put your arms when you stand there, you're learning how to do stuff on your own and you have to speak for yourself... I was having my hair cut on my own for the first time and it got to the bit where she shows you the back in the mirror and asks "How's that love?" I could clearly see without a doubt that one side of my hair was longer than the other at the front. I knew I had to speak up, say SOMETHING Hannan! Come on! You'll be the laughing stock at school! Yet alas... my stupid old mouth let me down and before I knew it I was walking out of the shop having told her that "Yes it looks lovely, thank you very much". My Mum took one look at me when she picked me up and sent me straight back up to the woman to tell her to sort this mess out. The woman looked again and "oh yes I see, OK let's sort this out". She did a few snip snippys and I left the shop with even shorter hair...that was still wonky... I refused to go back a third time and just had to keep putting it behind my ears for a few weeks. No biggie.

3. The time I looked ridiculous...again.
Once, my Mum decided she was fed up with me looking pretty like a girl and decided that I should have all my lovely Rapunzel hair cut away. Kindness, Mama. It ended up being more like a bob (actually would be very trendy nowadays) but the problem was that it was bob-ish at the front but went all the way up to NOTHING at the back! I had legit boy hair at the back. I even had that silly 'v' of hair in the nape of my neck. It was a horrific era of school those days as it was without having a little point of hair for them all to tug on. All day long I got tugged at and laughed at. I was so fed up. And to add salt to the wound my friend Liz had luscious long locks. When she put a jumper on her hair would stay in her jumper "keeping her neck warm" so she would say. I had a cold neck every winter :(

4. The time Mum got snip happy
Now this isn't what it sounds like. Mum has never messed up my hair by snipping it. OK, we went on holiday once, possibly to France, and I got one of those beautiful hair braids wrapped all around my hair. It had many different colours, beads at the end and even used glittery thread! I loved it! However, my hero of a school decided it wasn't in the uniform policy and we had to remove all such lovely things before September. My Mum had a little (tiny) go at removing it with her hands (the conventional way) before giving up and simply snipping it off at the top...

...leaving a tiny sprout of hair on the top of my head by my parting that stayed for MONTHS until it had caught up with the rest of my hair.

By the way, having re-read this blog, Megatron is coming off in a fairly bad light... let me stress that there were thousands of hair related times that went very well thanks to my Mum. Like the time she got glitter powder for me that I could put in it, that was nice. And the time she painted the bottom bit of my hair bright pink so I could be hip and with it, that was cool too.

If you were a psychologist you may say that the reason I have long hair now is to meet unfulfilled childhood desires. Maybe. Or maybe I just avoid getting the hairs on my noggin snipped because of all the disastrous reasons above.

Both I think.

Love Hannan :)

I'll be yours if you'll be mine...

Wedding days are special and beautiful. They make people love each other, and there are so many flowers and friends there. They are heart felt and real because of all the love happening. I know this to be true because I had a wedding two weeks ago. The Boy married me all lovely and romantic like. And I'ma tell you about it right now.

So sit your sweet peach down on the sofa or the ground and listen with your peepers, because here's the deet's.

The Boy and I had been planning this party for so long we forgot it was a real thing that would actually happen one day, and so when the day arrived it didn't feel quite real. I woke up and my sister, Jessicatty, said "Happy Wedding Day!" and I said "Thank you" and had a shower. I then had some tasty coco pops. Because on your wedding day you can eat anything for breakfast.

I got all ready, a hairdresser did my hair and when I returned, my 'maids were there (bridesmaids, not servants) to help me get excited and ready. It was a lovely sunny day and we had some photos in the garden. Then it was time to get into the VW campervan we had ready for us, me and me ol' Dad, and drive to the church. Our chauffeur was Henry, The Boy's brother and he did a good job (he also got all emotional which made me feel like a bride in the films, where people stop and cry in the streets because she's so beautiful).

I'd planned this whole dramatic entrance of the bride which achieved the desired effect, people were crying left, right and centre! So was The Boy. He had begun to well up as my maids traipsed in all dainty, and then at the grand moment, I walked through the doors, sparkling like a summer snowflake in my dress, all beauty and peace, he really went for it. Lots of tears and that.

It made me feel special though. Anyway, the wedding itself went well, my almost sister in law, Vicki, read a bit of my favourite book (the Bible, not Harry Potter, although it was a toss-up between that reading and the bit in Harrry P where Harry tells Voldemort he'll never know love)

Our friends Gareth and Tara prayed for us which was super special and meant a lot. Super Knomes led the worship with a great band, and our friend Tom read a reading about love. Ahhhhh.

It was quite weird with everyone looking at us all day. I'd be sipping a brew, or talking about having a wedgie, or something else equally private and someone would take a photo from across the way. The hard thing was when you glance around the garden and see someone taking a photo, do you ignore them because they obviously wanted a 'natural' shot, or do you smile at them!? Tricky tricky.

Also, when you're a bride, everyone has to do things for you. Jessicatty had everything I could ever need in her handbag. Perfume, hairspray, hairpins, sellotape, etc. When we got food, I casually mentioned how much I love the crispy bits of dauphinois potatoes and so the waitress scraped the top layer off and gave it to me!

Anyway, the day was incredible. There was a cake (my Mum had made, it was so good), bagpipes (Handle insisted on contributing by playing, despite us and him having zero links to Scotland), a barn dance (do-si-do, strip the willow, swiiiiing your partner), herbs (who doesn't want a free herb!?) and two shiny sparkly rings.

So now I'm a Mrs. I've learnt a new autograph and learnt how to share the bed every single night. I'm learning how to not get cross when the toilet seat is left up and how to take it in turns to watch my programmes. (It goes Gardener's World, Made in Chelsea, Gardener's World, Made in Chelsea...)

Come round for a brew and I'll introduce you to my husband, The Boy.
Love Mrs Hannan The Boy
xxx

3 more sleeps until I'm Mrs The Boy...

In 3 more sleeps I get to have the best party ever and become married to the love of my life, The Boy. I feel quite excited, like someone is tickling my tummy with a feather, or like a group of tiny vandals are climbing down into my tummy and graffiti-ing on the lining of my stomach. Planning this party has been a long and arduous mission. Fun at times, scary at times, sometimes stressful but all very exciting. It got me thinking about all the things that will change when I become Mrs The Boy.
Here are my thoughts written down...

1. I will have a different last name.

I have had a name for 27 years and I know how to spell it, pronounce it, know what others will change it to when they write it down or call it out wrong at the Doctor's surgery. Know how much room to leave when writing it on a line. I can sign it in a signature (although every time I do, I get to the start of my last name and begin to panic thinking "I can't remember hOW TO SIGN MY NAME!!!" but by the time I've thought this thought I look down to see I have signed it perfectly. Every time, I panic and every time it is just right). So after my wedding I will have a sparkly new golden name to learn. Its an unusual one and it has a 'z' in it so I feel ever so exotic. I will have to learn what to say when people say "Ooh, where's that from?", learn which names to listen for at the dentist for when they mispronounce it, and get used to actually responding to that name instead of looking casually around when I hear it, thinking "I wish Mrs Jezeph would hurry up and go in, I'm waiting for my appointment!!"

2. I'll have to share my house with a boy

I moved out of my flat away from Crazy Meg in April (*sob*) and missed having a living companion a lot. I quickly got used to living on my own though, and quite liked the idea that, if I put something away, or in a specific place, I know it will still be there when I get back from work! I know that there won't be any pants or socks on my bedroom floor, or any beard hairs in the sink. The towels will be hanging on the rail, dry rather than on the floor or bed, wet. However, after W-day, all these things could change. Pants and socks may appear on my lovely floor, beard hairs could appear in the sink like a tiny party of ants sunbathing on a ceramic beach....
Nah, I'm sure it will be fine and actually I'm super excited to come home to The Boy, cooking dinner, handing me a glass of wine and saying "I cleaned the house today darling Hannan"...

3. I should probably buy a beige nightie...

I feel as though getting married means I'm super old and boring now. I was looking at buying some pj's for my honeymoon and happened upon the nightie section of Marks and Spencer (which was the first clue that I'm getting old and boring by the way... Goodbye Topshop, Hello Marks...) I glancd at a flowery, shapeless, floor length nightie and for one fraction of a second, 1% of my brain told me that I should buy it. The rest of my brain however, quickly kicked in and reminded me I am still a young woman. They bustled this 1% of my brain away as if to say "Oh we're er... terribly sorry about him, he's er... not well you see..." as they cover him with a blanket, red faced, and bundle him out of my ear. From that moment on, with the remaining 99% of my brain, I vowed to maintain my youth as long as possible. My mantra is "Getting married doesn't mean you hang up your converse and sparkly tops! Keep those batman girl boxers and don't stop crimping your hair!!!"

4. The Boy may need rebranding...
Since the dawn of this blog, hardcore Hannan Fannans (big up yaselves) will know that I refer to George as The Boy. This was because I originally intended this blog to be sort of annonymous. I thought it would be a fun little secret that people on the interent and I could share. But word got out (from my gob really) that I'd written a little thing called a blog and so people I knew started following it. Calling my boy The Boy however, stuck. BUT...Now we are becoming man and wife, is his name really appropriate? Should he be called The Man... or The Husband!? I don't know. I shall have a think. If you have any thoughts do let me know. Ahhhh life's big problems eh?

This is my last blog as Hannan B. The next one will be written by Hannan J.
How exciting. If you are coming to the wedding (and everyone is invited to the church bit, so do pop along! Ask for details if you want to come), but if you are coming, pray that I don't do anything silly like fall onto the cake, or trip coming down the aisle, or be sick in The Boy's lovely hair...

See you at the church!

Love Hannan xxxxx

P.S. I had an AMAZING hen do, organised by my sister, sisters-in-law to be and bridesmaids and I had such an amazing time. There was crimped hair, tutus, tequila and a Michael Jackson impersonater. What more could a Hannan want? Thanks girls xxx