Slippery

Ha HA. After a lot of tweaking, editing, and telling myself sharply not to use the word "interpenetration" in a personal statement, application number 2, to King's, is IN. My eggs are officially distributed in multiple baskets. Four to go.

What's much less painful, and in fact sort of worryingly enjoyable, is the piece I'm writing for a fashion journalism contest. I'm being fairly earnest about it, tracking down historical and cultural precedents, psychologising, considering far-fetched literary references, etc. It's pleasingly similar to writing a supervision essay, except about accessories. Whee.

Met Iona in London yesterday and was, once again, the recipient of free stuff merely by trailing in her wake, in this case a hair consultation and hair products. "You have to stop me if it looks like I'm about to buy something," she said. "We should have a signal for if it looks like it's a kidnapping ring," I said, flapping my arms like chicken wings. "Like this." In the end it was not a kidnapping ring and we were not ripped off, but I was completely put off the Pantene shampoo and conditioner I usually use. Apparently "it doesn't actually improve the hair, it just coats it and makes it slippery". I can't rationally see anything wrong with that, since hair is as far as I know dead organic matter that doesn't need to be fed or nourished, but now I can't stop thinking about my hair being coated with all manner of unpleasantness. Nnngh.