asbestos hair

My hair dryer what I was given when I was 9 years old and on my way to Boarding School (yes at 9 years old. I've seen 9 year olds. They're small. Why was I sent away at 9 years old? Was I really that bad? Has it scarred me for life? Am I bitter and twisted and permanently damaged? Did I ever call my matron Mum and my ginger-bearded-science teacher Dad? Why do I dream so much of school as a wrinkled adult?) is dying.
Last night was the fortnightly "Mol, we have to wash your hair. You have creatures living in there and they're not from this world" hair washing session. Actually, the older she has become the better the session is. There is less AAAAAGGGGGHHHHHH NOOOOOOOOOOO thrashing and more, oh, yeah, I like this Pantene stuff, wow, my hair is like WAY smooth. But I still have to dry it because she has long hair and I was told by my Mum, no, I mean my Matron Tamsin, that to go to bed with wet hair was like a walk down pneumonia alley and kissing death hello. So. We do the hair wash. ("Mum feel my hair its like silk" - maybe I should film and send to Pantene and see if she can be their next shampoo-model.) And then I get my creaky hair dryer out. The box has long since disintegrated. I admit, over the last few years I've been hearing strange noises come from my old Braun friend. Ignoring them because I don't want anything to be wrong. But last night the noises were no longer ignorable, the rattle was the sound of parts which no longer wanted to be together. It was as though in the quiet days in between use they had been having a big discussion about breaking up.
You know, I don't like these shiny red walls any more. And hey, I feel old and tired. I need a change. And you're not the macho fan you once were. Well, you can talk. You just blow hot air down a tube. Badly.
And then when I slide the switch to ON, there is this almighty rumpus, and then I notice as the hot air blows weakly down the tube that bits of 'stuff' are being spat out onto Mols hair. It looks like asbestos. But surely I can't have been 9 SO long ago that hair dryers were made of asbestos? And then there is this dilemma. Do I carry on drying Mols hair and let bits of asbestos spit out all over her precious head, or do I quit the drying and let her go to bed with wet hair and therefore invite pneumonia into her room on a red carpet? Being sort of mostly English and a bit incapable of making firm decisions (sometimes) I went for the middle of the road: dried the top of the hair (which now has bits of asbestos nesting at the roots) and left the long bits wet. Which basically was probably the worse option, but as I type she's has a whole day of being OK no weird asbestos side effects and no pale pneumonic looking chest. I guess I ought to investigate a new machine. Sad though. The old model being replaced by the new. There are many fun dorm memories attached with that old red hair dryer. Singing to Eye of the Tiger or Take my breath away (mainly down deodorant cans but occasionally if there was a shortage out came the hair dryer). Maybe I could do some modern art with it, turn it into a kind of shrine, attach it to the wall in a frame - could be a new movement - and I'd be the founder of it, me and my Braun. I can't be so flippant and just chuck it. I think not.

Oh my god! Lucas! East Enders! Ex-wife dead on a rake! Who'd Adam n Eve it? We watched her bleeding to death! Before 8pm! SO. GOOD.

On a final note I'd just like to congratulate the new mums in my life. Congratulations New Mums in my life. You're amazing! New babies! Sore bits! Long nights! No sleep! Loads of washing! I am a girl - no, sorry, not true, I am a woman (with wrinkles) - with a few words of advice: eat cake (by that I mean good home made cake); not too many visitors; get into East Enders as soon as possible and be nice to your man once a day if you can, otherwise he'll stop bringing you tea. Mind you its highly unlikely that any new mum will be reading this so I really shouldn't bother.