Happy Solstice: In Which Everything is Summer

What is it with this beautiful weather?

Yesterday my friend and I went to the beach. We took our shoes off and paddled. It was cold water. And the shingle was sharp. Much "Ow! Ow-ing" as two Grey Dolls hopped and staggered to a dry patch - sat down - mopped feet and put shoes on again.

Families were picnicking and sun-bathing. Games were being played and holes dug. The sea was blue - as it should be. The Island Mount was splendid as usual - with a line of people waiting for the ferry to take them along the flooded causeway to the Mount.

Sun, sea, and .... well I don't surf.

In my teenage-hood. In West Cornwall - I was aware that surfin' wuz happenin'. And this was surfin' before black suits and fancy boards. Nevertheless there were, of course, the Surfin' Boys.

And us girls who sat on the bus home from school and batted our eyelashes, and wriggled, wiggled, and giggled.

But I knew - deep down - the Doll would not be looked upon with favour by the Surfin' Boys.

We's talkin' early 1960s here. Vidal Sassoon, Twiggy and Mary Quant. Slim and curvy girls with long straight hair was what was appreciated by the Surfin' Boys - or Sporty Girls with good looks.

Me? The Doll was built like a pony - and had curly, frizzy hair.
No way. No How. Was I to be noticed as I wriggled with the others.

Never mind. Eventually 1967 happened.
Dylan happened.
Hendrix happened.

And I could screech with vengeful laughter as I returned home from my first year at art college "au naturel". And everybody's jaw dropped. My hair was seen in a new and prestigious light. My frizzy beehive of curls were finally and most unpredictably - "Cool".

"How do I get my hair to look like yours?" Say they.
"Suffer an outcast's life for several years" Think I. "You Rotters. Suffer."