For us it was hairshirts or nothing,
Hey never knew you were that hairy DOY? Must have been a bugger getting that suit of armour on too with such a bushy tooshy, although saying that warm in the winter no doubt, not so in the summer, and the main reason why there was a rise in Bigfoot sightings in the states in the late 1970s. I'm sure I saw you once on an episode of Sightings. With that new info, I'd change your username too from Dirty Old Yank to Hairy Old Yank. Er.... yes...erm... that sounds a bit naughty and digestive.
A little story to amuse. As an impressionable kid wanted streaked hair like all my friend at school. I say friend (singular) as I had only one, and he was my brother, so it counts. I was a popular kid me, and hey, after all it was the early eighties and the new romantics were in fashion, sadly we weren't. Anyway, back to the story. So I pestered my mam to have my hair streaked, but she went to the local Co-op and bought some Summer Shine hair-dye on the cheap as it was a lean week money-wise and she couldn't afford to take me to the hairdresser. Saying that. I didn't want to go as my local saloon was called blow me, and I didn't want to get blowed, blond yes, not blowed, although I didn't have much to blow at the time, and no I'm referring to my hair there. Hey that rhymed.
So it was the big day. My new fashionable hairstyle ,but on coming home from school was told the bad news by my my mam that she couldn't afford a Saloon visit but said she'd do it for me, and as I wiped away the tears brought out a most wonderful surprise imaginable. The Co-op bought Summer Shine hair-dye, product of Albania. She said tea first, but ignored her shouting yahoo, as I ran upstairs to wash my hair. So five minutes later after a quick wash pee and fart came down with great expectations to the kitchen area where my mam was waiting. She had all the products ready & mixed, had a clear plastic bag in one hand fag in the other. On seeing this was a tad worried as the peroxide was flammable, and I wanted streaking not suffocating. So I sat down ready for my new look, when my brother entered the kitchen to watch munching on a jelly cola bottle sweet. My confidence was shot when he started to laugh as my mam smeared the thick viscous dye over my hair, then proceeded to put a bag over my head. I though this odd? as I wanted streaking not suffocating, but she said she wasn't able to streak my hair as she'd lost her tweezers earlier in the week plucking her legs, and how I should be bloody grateful she was doing at all. I went silent, as you can expect.
Set the scene. I was done, my mam had buttered me well and good, then placed the bag on head, then I went with tea in hand into the living room to watch Tizwas. Unknown to me my brother had decided he wanted to have streaked hair too, and seeing there was half a tub of gunk left asked my mam to do him too, but she only had a bread bag available as the other was still in use. On me. So there we were. Both of us eating crisps watching Tizwas. We waiting the allotted 30mins required on the packet. See my mam had bad eyesight and somehow doubled the timing seeing there was two of us to 60mins. This was a big mistake. See 30mins was for one user and the product wasn't meant to be used for two heads let alone be doubled. So as we both sat there sizzling away joking while eating our Quaver crisps drinking Cola until the big wash and reveal.
So after one hour of fizzing, it was time for the big moment, and I was first. My mam removed my plastic bag , then dunked proceeded to my head under the tap, rinsed my hair in lukewarm water, then dried my hair as if I were a dog. A poodle was apt. On seeing her handiwork, her facial expression said everything. So with trepidation ran up stairs, then looked into the bathroom mirror with horror. What I saw was otherworldly. My hair had turned white, snow-white in fact. I looked like one of the Children of the Dammed, but with a Swansea Accent. Worse still was my brother. Who on unravelling his bread-bag turban saw his hair go from dark brown to copper ginger. He looked like a Duracell battery with NHS specs. Even funnier was his thick dark eyebrows which from a far looked like two refugee caterpillars in an internment camp. Not good, as we both the next day went to school and was roundly humiliated by all the school and teachers. There's a moral in this tale. Can't think of one off hand.
. Odd seeing Peter Cushing without a stake or bat in sight, and he's so young too...
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