The same only shorter.

Well that's fine then. It looks the same only shorter! A hairdresser who listens to the end of the sentence. I enjoyed hearing the conversations going on around me in the salon. Very cosmopolitan for a small town. A young woman who had recently been proposed to in NY Central Park whilst on a ride. A chap who had come back from a holiday in Japan was comparing it as it is now to how it had been when he lived there years ago. A woman from California was talking amusingly about cockroaches. She had a nice accent. I remembered my good friend Frances, now dead, who was born in Montrose then moved to the USA. Her soft Scottish accent had picked up on the rolling 'r' of California making her voice even rounder and more musical. On the way to the hairdressers I stopped in Macleans for a hot sausage roll and coffee (which I expected to be terrible as it used to be, but their coffee has improved along with with their refurbishment.) I enjoyed hearing the talk washing around me there too; not for the content but for the sound. It gets more difficult as one travels south to enjoy people's voices. The further south the more difficult; it's really noticeable on a train journey. There are ugly north of England accents too - Lancashire isn't beautiful. George Formby. Cringe.

On the minus side: Apart from the danger one is in, the other bad thing about hairdressers is the amount of time one has to spend in front of the mirror. I would really rather keep my illusions abut my face these days, and not see too much of it!

Whilst I was away Tom took the four boxes of Scifi and seemed very pleased with them. He will swop some, put some on the Lett's shelf (wherever that is) which will earn him a few Lett's, and generally distribute them so that's really good. Everyone's a winner. There was also a call from an old lady in Elgin who wants to sell some books on Morayshire. Sounds promising but one daren't raise hopes too high. She quite probably has hers raised too for a good sale so we shall see.

In a small town it is impossible to walk up the street without bumping into someone for a chat. Today it was Alvin. We talked about Barry who he has heard from more than me of late. Barry was diagnosed with prostate cancer which had metastasised. He was put on hormones which caused him to begin to grow breasts, and they gave him two years to live. At first it really knocked him sideways and he was understandably scared. Then he did a breathwork session - he has always been convinced by its healing properties, both emotionally and physically, but he has never been challenged like this before. During the session he says he had a change of attitude toward the cancer and the diagnosis and, I suppose, death. The next time he went for blood tests ) the one that shows if cancer is present, I forget what it is called) had dropped from way over the 'normal' line to normal again. He has stopped taking the hormones and feels fine, looks great by all accounts, and is in very good spirits. Fantastic!

I totally belive that all illness, all everything really, is in our heads, but it's one thing to believe that and another to swing the balance in oneself.