As I’m handing her this month’s bag of audiobooks, Miss Briar says “your hair looks lovely.”

I’m a little surprised as, running late this morning, which I was, for my mobile library round, what with feeding my sister’s cats,  I’d roughly scraped  back my hair (which, incidentally, needs both a wash and a cut) into an elastic band and pegged it out of the way. 

I realise that sounds as if, had I not been running late, I’d be sporting some magnificent up-do.  I wouldn’t.  My hair would look the same but described a little more succinctly.

Anyway, I make some sort of modest noise.  Miss Briar follows up with “it’s a lovely colour.”

“Thank you,” I say.  “It’s just grey, really.” 

But as I walk back to the car, I’m feeling a smidgen lighter than of late remembering how Ma had always commended my hair.  This was largely because of her (entirely accurate) conviction that her family were Practically Perfect in Every Way.  But also because Ma’s hair was very different from mine: hers was thick, wavy, dark chestnut; mine is fine, straight, mousey – now transitioning to grey.  We envied each other’s hair; such is the contrariness of the universe.

In the car, I tell ActorLaddie that Miss Briar had said my hair looked nice.  It’s only as I’m checking her audiobooks are all in the right cases that I remember she’s blind.

Still, a compliment is a compliment.