SWB gets her nails done

This week, I’ve been feeling the need for a good stretch, so I’m embracing yoga at every opportunity, and off I set merrily into town to enjoy a class on Friday morning. Foolishly, I hadn’t checked on-line and the class was cancelled due to teacher training. “Bollocks” I thought, with me all decked out in my yoga ensemble and raring to go. But, ever the opportunist I gave LSB a bell and we thought we’d try out a new coffee establishment. Well, that was an underwhelming experience. Two overpriced coffees for which we waited at least 10 minutes too long, and a bun which never turned up at all. “That was definitely her fault” yelped the ineffectual barista, passing the buck to the poor girl who’d taken our order. This confirmed to me that not only was he a blustering idiot, but a none too chivalrous one to boot. We didn’t leave a tip, and LSB usually would. He’s nice like that, even if he found shrapnel in his sausage, he’d still dig deep.

 

So with an hour to spare, I thought I know: I’ll get my nails done, what a treat! Well, it maybe wasn’t a treat, shall we say, but certainly an education. I stepped into a high street salon where the chemicals that permeated the air would have taken the breath from you. SWB, have a word with yourself, I counselled. You’re building an extension, paying rent, and you’re not at your work. You can’t be running to Gorgeous Nails on Stranmillas at the drop of a hat. This may be a somewhat insalubrious joint, but get a file and polish done and be on your way.

 

Gingerly I took a pew and chose a slatey mushroomy colour, (the sort that you can get away with a bit of housework before it goes completely to shite.) My ‘nail artist’, (Charmaine, according to her badge) fluctuated between maternal and psychotic. ‘Put your wee hands in there love’ she instructed, sounding like a kindly nurse. Then, continuing her conversation with another client about the perils of flying: “So that’s me barred for life from Jet 2. ‘Antisocial behaviour’ they called it. I’d a half-litre of vodka in me before the flight, so I was off my face; dandering up and down the aisle. Here’s me to randomers: “Where are youse staying? San Antonio? Us too, sweet!” F**kers took me to court and all but I’m not paying no four grand fine. It’s Easyjet all the way for me from now on.”

 

From there she inquired into the health of a colleague’s son. “How’s he doing after his wee procedure last week? “Ach, he’s very sore, and a bit f**king scundered too.” said Jade. Well, I waited with bated breath to hear more. “So he was just lying there, moaning an’all, but then I was jumping up to shut a window and I managed to knee him in the nuts, well, one nut, I suppose is all he has now. Awful awl scar they left too. You should’ve heard the language outta him! Poor love.”

 

“He’ll be grand so he will”, comforted Charmaine. “Fella on our estate had only one ball. ‘One ball Bobby’ we called him. You can get these wee plastic ones to pop in the other side, even up things a bit. Silicon I think they’re made out of. I know all about balls, me”. She gave me a theatrical wink. “Only joking”. Hmmm, wouldn’t be too sure I thought, but who am I to judge?

 

Less of a salon experience, more of a pantomime. But certainly more entertaining than reading Hello.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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