Hair Today, Gone Tomoorow...

Dear Hair,

Well it had to happen sooner or later, didn't it? There are few things I have complete confidence in, you were always one of them. Not for me straighteners, conditioners and a trip to the apothecary in order to control frizz. When girls spoke of the battles conducted with various implements just to stop their crowning glory looking ever so slightly pubic, I looked on blankly, not quite understanding what the drama was. I just washed it and went, oblivious to the civil wars raging between the head and body of many a distressed damsel in the bedroom battleground.

How the tables have turned? What wrong have I done you? Sure I may not put tonnes of chemicals on you on a daily basis, but don't I take you to a nice salon every couple of months? Don't you get a lovely head massage and cut? Doesn't the nice lady always tell you what nice condition you are in? When she asks us what products we use to get so shiny and we tell her we don't use any and she looks horrified, don't we chuckle?

So why, Hair, why, in the name of Jesus, have you chosen to rebel as we trot around France? France, the land of the chic? Handsome men with sexy accents? Wot iz zeese gruwing from yur ed? (okay it doesn't type as sexy as it sounds) Why at this precise moment, have you decided to start looking like a bag of cheese strings with a fringe thrown in for good measure?

I have covered the mirrors with black cloth and am wearing a hat until you return...

Yours sincerely,

I'm A Lady...

Dear Balls,

You are not an instantly recognisable part of my anatomy. I being a lady and the such like, but you've sprung to life, in a metaphorical sense as it were, for if it were in a physical sense, well quite frankly there'd be no time to write you a letter. I'd most likely be sitting in a lab somewhere, getting prodded by various scientists, changing my title to Mr. and appearing on the cover of The Enquirer. Take that Brangelina!

You're excited and for much of our next adventure, there is no back up, no usual team, no familiarity. We used to go everywhere together, me and you balls. We used to just show up and ask questions later. We weren't ever interested in problems or lists that were presented detailing everything that could go wrong. Because deep down, we know what some people don't, everything will be alright.

So here we are balls, for the next 6 weeks, new faces, new places, new sights, new sounds, new tastes, new thoughts, new words...

Yours sincerely,

Not Even A Little Bit...

Dear Boredom,

Get in your box and stay there. Balls and I are reunited, we're having an adventure, you're not invited and you won't be missed...

Yours sincerely,

I Do Not Snore...

Dear Sleep,

We've got two more and then we leave. Now I know you've got your hands full battling excitement but if you don't take a stand tonight, tomorrow will be exhausting. I don't mean to scold you, but you've been fairly elusive the last three nights and then when you do arrive it's only for a short stay of three or four hours before ping, eyes open and on with the day. There is much to do and not much time to do it, so if we make a deal and get in 6 hours tonight, I promise when work kicks off and you are weighing heavy on my lids, on days off, I will take a nap, a short one, but a nap none the less.

So, let's break out the sheep, warm up the abacus, heat the milk and dare I say it, turn away from the computer a good hour before bed. We must, in the spirit of Audrey, arrive in Europe impossibly fresh and ready for adventure...

Yours sincerely,

I'm Not Original But I Sure Am Better...

Dear Noisettes,

I'm not a fan of yours normally, don't upset the rhythm - upsets me. This however, this is magic. If I were Brandon Flowers I'd be like "Yo, fellow Killers, this is what our song could have sounded like..."

Yours sincerely,

Dinner And A Movie...

Dear Drunk Males Who Shout Vulgar Things At Females In The Street,

No I won't be stopping for a chat. Thank you, but I am going to have to decline your offer of putting that in my mouth. Nope, I don't find the smell of beer/kebab/vomit attractive. Your comment about my chest will never make me want to go home with you. Slapping me on the bottom, funnily enough, frightens me. As does two of your friends blocking my way so you can tell me how fit I am, this is not a compliment. I think when you urinate in the street you have never looked more attractive, really, chicks dig it.

Under no cirumstances is chanting football songs in my face considered poetry. Screaming at your friend that he is a wanker isn't really my idea of a mating call, perhaps if you were to beat your chest and swing from a tree I might find it more so, but that's slightly offensive to monkeys... Wow, that blob of phlegm you hacked up is burning a whole in the pavement, but let's be clear, that does not make it a super power. My disinterest in you does not make me a lesbian, but if you are my other option, bring on the sapphic sisterhood...

Yours sincerely,

Nelly The Elephant Packed Her Trunk...

Dear Suitcase,

We leave on Friday. I realise I've been looking at you for two days straight trying to decide what to put in you. It's complicated, it's 10 countries, in just under 6 weeks, mostly work but some play and quite frankly, we might see sun. The kind of sun that lasts, apparently, people in other countries have this thing called Summer. Not the kind of Summer we have here, where the sun comes out for 15 minutes whilst I'm showering only for me to hit the outside and be blinded by an array of farmers tans and decidedly orange looking ladies. Oh ladies, orange is the preserve of those kind folk over at Willy Wonkas, step away from the fake bake and breath...Anyway I digress, unusual I know, somebody call the tangent police...Where was I? Oooh Summer. This massive, bright ball of light lives in the sky. You don't have to wear a coat and your skin warms up a few shades which in turn stops you looking like a cadaver.

People eat ice cream for breakfast, well okay that might be just me, no one is ever grumpy, until we hit Italy, again that will just be me, great for days off but my word," tomorrow Bella, tomorrow", is never a solution to something I need done today, but damn, no one does a day off better then the Italians, plus you called me Bella, cue girlish giggle... I'm sorry what's that you say? I got distracted twirling my hair...

So anyway, my point is, if you could find it in your heart to create a magical pocket within you, this is starting to sound like a Celine Dion song... I can put everything I need in you without you weighing anymore than the desired weight, that would be incredible. I in turn for my part, promise to not ram you with an assortment of goodies from our stops along the way...I also promise to stop lying, oh the treats that await us...

Yours sincerely,

Struttin'...

Dear New Jeans,

So a miracle has occurred. I of the arseless existence, a life time of no bottom, a leg that goes all the way to my waist with no discernible bump, no shelf to rest coffee, no slight little duck bum that would ever have anyone refer to it as a peach. Flatter than a pancake, flatter than a Pop Idol contestant singing Christina Aguilera, flatter then the world in the days of Galileo... Today, dare I say it, because of you, juicy!

Apparently money can't buy you happiness but it can buy you J brand...

Yours sincerely,

Hit Me Baby One More Time...

Dear Britney,

So I went to see you. I got given some tickets and thought why not? You're not really my cup of tea, but as pop songs go, Toxic is genius, and you are Britney Spears. It made me sad, I wanted to pull the plug on the power and smuggle you away somewhere quiet and give you a nice cup of tea.

I always think when people embark on fame a deal with the devil is made. Some tribes believe when their photo is taken a piece of their soul goes with it, it would be hard to disagree with that judging by the night's performance. You're eyes were dead, where ever you were, it wasn't inside the o2.

You have all these people looking after you, and by you I mean your brand, because it just doesn't look like you as a person are being cared for at all. I think you should just take your babies somewhere quiet and hang out, take some time off, chill, enjoy yourself, get better. If you really want your life back, if you want any sort of life at all, just start saying no...

Yours sincerely,

Achoo....!

Dear Hayfever,

Anyone who takes pleasure in spoiling the smell of newly mown grass is no friend of mine...

Yours sincerely,

I've Got The Key...

Dear Secret,

I'll keep you company. I have some questions, but you should know, if you answer my finger is on my lips and I am on lock down. A gang of two, you and I, companions.

Do the dark ones bring you down? Do the light ones swell you to the point of bursting? Have you ever whispered in the ear of another swearing them to secrecy, cursing your own hypocrisy at the task you were unable to keep yourself? Do you feel guilty when finally you can stay quiet no longer? Do you hate when you have to stay tacit because of your promise, rather then do what others might see as the right thing and let it all out? Do you feel like you have an affinity with priests, both of you privy to the confessions of others and rendered silent as a stroke, by way of your job description? Is it a lonely life? Who do you confide in? Is it hard to be trusted? Do you trust anyone? Is there anything you don't know? Do you enjoy the planning stages of a surprise? Are you a fan of clipboards and headsets?

I hope you're not alone, I hope someone holds your key...

Yours sincerely,