You’re stronger than you think: Product Review!

My hair is something you would find in a barn, rolled up and lashed into bales to feed the cattle during the long harsh winter! I often think I’m lucky that my stripped and parched strings of mangled twine don’t combust when hit by refracted light! It is basically an unmanageable heap of kindling descending rapidly into the territory of ash the more and more I subject it to heat!


When it hit 1:30pm today…I realised that I hadn’t done very much…not even the things I was supposed to do. And until 11:55am when I woke up and found myself able to move, this was something I could blame on the CFS…the rest has simply been dedicated procrastination. And when I realized that was the case I began to feel really badly about it. So I decided to do something proactive. I decided to tend my mop with a much recommended protein hair treatment called Aphogee.


I’ve heard the good, I’ve heard the bad and I’ve even seen the ugly attributed to this product but believe me when I say that it was either this or shave the whole lot off and start again! In the space of 8 months I have gone from red to deep, dark brown, to blonde, to platinum blond, to white, to cotton candy pink…and then back to red again as a last resort to save my scalp from the daily blood on the pillow (40% bleach on the scalp is actually KILLER). Now, not all my hair is a lost cause but a good inch of it is pretty much on it’s last legs…and as I am growing out a pixie cut, in some places an inch is all I have from being Sinaede O’Connor circa “Nothing Compares”. So, like I said, I was willing to try anything because the alternative was the most extreme…and even then I was willing!

I’m going to begin this by saying that this is NOT a shampoo, after reading so many reviews I was prepared for it NOT to smell like one. Once you have washed you hair with your own shampoo, then towel tried it as directed…you will have decent comparison. It has been described as “rotten eggs mixed with alcohol”, “toilet cleaner and barf”…personally I thought it smelt a bit like christmas cake that had been doused WAY to many times with a mixture of rum, whiskey and port. I don’t particularly like christmas cake HOWEVER I can think of worse things that I could be smearing on my head. I did, however, underestimate how runny the product was. I went on alright but…given time it begin to trickle onto my neck and back and that was okay…until it began to dry *shudder*. I do not recommend; sticky and tight and not in a pva on the skin sorta way!

But it is what must be endured in order to saturate the hair in STEP 1.

Then comes the tedious process of drying it with the hairdryer (unless you’re lucky enough to possess a drying hood). It does take a while but it’s the heat that adheres the protein to the strand so persevere. For the LOVE of god, don’t use a brush while drying. The instructions were VERY clear about that and said it in CAPITAL LETTERS!!! Though I’m not too sure who would consider it or even be able to, I thought my hair was like straw before. I knew nothing (Jon Snow). This was like straw that had been rolled together with molasses and stuck back on my bonce! And then it bypassed that and I had a very unfashionable helmet. The stuff doesn’t go rock hard but feels like a ball of tightly rolled up sticky tape (the non-tacky side).


Once its at this ken doll hair stage, you rinse it out. Warning: My hair actually felt WORSE than it did before I put on the treatment. I squeezed it together and it actually stayed in this dangly, ginger icicle shape. Mild panic ensued. I reached for the balancing moisturizer that came with and popped that on for the 2 mins advised and then washed it off. My dangly icicle was back to being hair but it felt grossly unconditioned (probably due to the fact that I had just rubbed what constituted as concentrated chicken fetus onto my head). So I popped on a conditioning mask which I pilfered from my future hair dye touch-up box.

Half an hour later I washed that off and it felt like freshly conditioned, normal, nice hair. The added surprise came when, for the first time in years, I had but one SINGLE strand of breakadge which I considered keeping as a momento but I’m not -that-weird…just weird enough to consider it. I still wasn’t holding out much hope for my cattle-feed locks as they had been. But I sat down to run some Dry Oil through it and give it a dry.

Oh goodness… oh dear lords and ladies and all manner of animal idols in the sky and down below…you have seen fit to touch my strands with a golden hand. Seriously, if you had felt the difference between the two, it’s more staggering than the difference shown in the pictures. No, it’s not virgin hair. But it’s damn near as close as I have been in near a decade.

BEFORE: Note the puffy, fuzzy dryness and hay like bleh of it!

BEFORE: Note the puffy, fuzzy dryness and hay like bleh of it!

AFTER: Hair dried in exactly the same way with exactly the same dry oil product!

AFTER: Hair dried in exactly the same way with exactly the same dry oil product!

I’m super pleased. If your hair is super damaged by heat and bleach and just general over processing, Aphogee is an amazing product that I would highly recommend to be your shaving grace. I’m leaving it a few days and then I’m going to see what it looks/feels like with a straighten.

I shall see you anon!


Think about the past: An OOTD

Hello to you dearest folk! Where have I been? Where HAVEN'T I been? It's been two weeks; A girl can get around!

Halloween hit me like a fully loaded long distance lorry with faces and makeup to
do and much lazing about on the sofa watching Rocky Horror Picture
Show with people whom didn't know that the Time Warp actually CAME
from somewhere and wasn't just some guy in Benidorm attempting to pied
piper your children to sleep stupor so you can drink yourself into a similar position.

Agadoo on the other hand probably was invented for that purpose!

Then there was a zombie night out and uni and friends body 'noped' out considerably until Tuesday when
it began to become a little more...responsive. Please don't ask me to
demonstrate this by doing the Time Warp; I am not capable though
slightly "under sedation"! (If you don't get this reference, you have failed the test and you can't be my friend."

Thought I would deliver unto you a quick outfit of the day from the
11th of November.

I come from a family with limited but respectable military
involvement. My grandfather built ships on the Clyde coast and my
great grandfather drove munitions trains. I have known many men whom
have been to war, whom have trained for war and have served their
country aiding family and friends of those affected by war. So imagine
my irritation when it came to Poppy Day... And I had no poppy on
leaving the house!

HOWEVER! I stood on ceremony to dress myself accordingly!


Simple black skater skirt from New Look paired with a sleeveless
monochrome pinstripe blouse also from New Look tucked in and a slim
belted waist with a gold accent from River Island.

And for my extra splash of red? A beautiful, Cardinal red cashmere
scarf which I received as a gift from my grandmother.

I wanted to feel decidedly feminine with my shoes, some pointed lace
ups from New Look with a little heel and some tights...though it was
unseasonably warm!


I popped on my South Leather Jacket and chose to co-ordinate with my
red floral stick for the day...probably also as a subconscious nod to
my shame of not having a poppy on my chest (which I picked up later
when I got into town).

I felt super sassy (and self conscious) with so much leg out and
possibly even a little bit sexy which is the first time in a long
time. I think it helps that my hair is back to being fiery red which
makes me feel super fiery!

Thinks From The Couch 

Disclaimer: These are my own opinions even if they seem like they aren’t. They are. And you can argue with me if you like but I really don’t care because “I’m big and you’re small, I’m right and you’re wrong, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

I am trying to figure out when the term “adult” became a verb. I think it is a turn of the century manifestation. There is a generation caught in believing that the right to drink, get married and smoke without being incarcerated causes their childhood to end and automatically imbibes them with all the life skills required to live without ones parent/parents/guardian. 

I’m nearing 27 and I still have my obligatory monthly weep to my mother on the end of the phone who I am pretty sure is rolling her eyes over a cup of tea and the sardonic turn of page of her OK magazine. 

I remember when I first turned 20 and I automatically latched onto the nearest adult (a self-assured 27 year old student teacher who was well travelled and supremely skilled in the world of adulting….and survived with a mild diet coke addiction). I shudder to think of every time I wittered on about how much I disliked Mary-Sue because they were so immature because they didn’t agree that I was more sensible than them or because Sally-Anne just wanted to be like me because she bought the same top as me even though she KNEW how much I loved it when I bought it. Did she sigh and smile and nod as much as I do now in loving reverence to her own youthful woes? Probably. 

Each time I lamented having no money to spend…thanks to buying expensive “stop cheating on me and love me” gifts for my emotionally abusive boyfriend. The strangling lump in my throat …. on the months I was less than rigorous with my birth control pill. The sudden and confusing depression that I had no idea of the origin … following three straight evenings of student style drinking. The unmitigated sensation of failure..because, for some reason, I thought I was supposed to have my life figured out and have control of my emotions when I was only hours out of my teens. 

Apparently this “adulting” epiphany is programmed to occur in the first 12 months following leaving for university/being booted out the family home. I can give you several examples of why this is completely unobtainable; my main one is, narcissistically, myself. Don’t get me wrong, there was an essence of maturity. But if someone had shown me something or said something that I disagreed with…the tried and tested method of Facebook posting provided an unregulated outlet for passive aggressive response which used to seem tactful. I wasn’t hurting anybody as long as no names were mentioned…only people weren’t stupid. And there was those times when I was drunk and thought that sobbing uncontrollably was just what happened. There were relationships that were seemingly sent to test my resilience and patience, my ability to love regardless of others faults…when really they were sent to show me my sense of self-worth…and how little I thought of myself and how little insignificant others thought of me.

But I cooked on my own, I payed my rent, I only spoke to my mum three or four times a week and I changed my bedclothes. 

It’s only been in the last two or three years where I finally feel I’ve got to loose, loose grips with things and my sense of adulthood. Stress is still a common feature but the fridge is full, medication is taken (CFS memory permitting), drinking and “partying” (a term I use very loosely) is a fortnightly, if not monthly, occurrence and Facebook status’ are mainly reserved for getting frustrated about political bias, chastising journalists, whining about my body falling apart or thanking people for being understanding when I flake on plans to have coffee to go to the doctors or sleep. Sometimes I get excited about make up purchases! 

Arguments are solved through a breathing period, patience and tact. A dislike for others is expressed through distancing and avoidance. Shouting is reserved for moments of utter frustration. Crying is done behind closed doors and usually followed by a practical activity. Having £300 in the middle of the month is considered “skint”. A calendar without annotations means there is a lost hangbag with a full diary. Every day is laundry day. Which means that nearly every evening is sober with a 9pm bedtime. But first and foremost, I come first. 

I think that is the true nature of “adulting”. It is the moment you realise that you cant pour from an empty vessel and that keeping that vessel full starts with a selfless appreciation for your basic needs. Not to have fun for funs sake or to do as one wants. But to do as one needs. Eat when one needs and what one needs. Watch what one needs. Feel what one needs. Buy what one needs. And so on and so forth. Sometimes one does need to sleep until noon, or one needs a drink, or one needs to forget the laundry, or one needs a movie, or one needs a new pair of shoes to make ones bum look pert! But as long as you follow through with that “adultishness”, with that essence of selfless selfishness. Then one is that bit closer to achieving that epiphany; the eureka moment of “Jesus…I’m not struggling with the little things!”.

Please don’t rush it just because Generation Y seems to have a sell by date for childhood. Relish in the non-adulting…because mum and dad aren’t lying. The rumours are true, kids today really do have it easy. Kids everyday have it easy! 

To be continued,